


The Size Of Our Actions

by buttered_onions



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, de-aged fic, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“What is happening?”</i> Allura demands, her voice loud in their ears. <i>“Paladins, did you find Shiro?”</i></p><p>“Uh, yeah, we found him,” Hunk stutters. Shiro’s gaze flickers up, small and impossibly young. “He’s…uh. He’s fine?”</p><p> </p><p>Or, the de-aged!Shiro fic <s>everybody</s> nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's an abundance of adorable deaged!Paladin fics and art floating around this lovely fandom, with one fairly large gap. Space Dad deserves a turn too.
> 
> Thanks bunches and bunches to my friend [Andy](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/), who dragged me into this fandom and gleefully encouraged and beta’d this every step of the way. I dedicate all my dramatic dying aliens to you.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr!](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/) Come yell.

“ _I’m in.”_ Pidge’s voice filters through the speakers in the Castle’s bridge, accompanied by the fast clack of keys. Keith stands behind Hunk’s shoulder, watching the influx of data on his screen with only the slightest frown. Lance nudges into him for a better view; Keith elbows him aside.

“Good work, Pidge,” Allura says, scanning her own copy of the text as it scrolls through the floating screens in front of her. “This is exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

“What is it?” Lance asks. “You can read this?”

“No, but I recognize the language,” Allura says, her clever eyes tracking the data. “It’s the research of the Nafrali people from many years ago; I suppose you could consider it ancient now. When the war was first starting they’d just begun research into a ‘top-secret’ weapon or procedure - I never found out exactly what. My father was very interested in its purposes.”

“ _So were the Galra, if it’s sealed this way,”_ Shiro agrees. He’d gone down with Pidge to the planet; it’s easy to picture the two of them working like so many times before, Shiro’s Galra hand firmly activating a panel of reds and purples while Pidge taps away at his side.

“They were.” Coran stands tall by Allura, hands gripped behind his back in the perfect picture of military professionalism. “And we must know why. Any trials, successes, or failures will have been recorded in these computers over the last ten thousand years. Once we translate the data, the research here will let us know exactly when, where, and how it’s been used.”

“You’ve been really quiet, Keith,” Hunk says, as Lance tries and fails to push Keith out of the way again. Keith stands his ground; Lance flops to the side with a groan. “You feeling alright?”

Keith shrugs, then remembers that Pidge and Shiro can’t see him. “Just makes me a little uneasy, that’s all.”

“Uneasy?” Lance picks himself up off the floor. “Super secret space weapon? Unknown to anyone else until we came along? What’s ‘uneasy’ about that?”

“The Galra locked it away for a reason,” Keith points out, unimpressed. “We’re not the only ones who will have seen it, just the most recent.”

_“Most recent in a long time,”_ Pidge pipes up.  _“This place is just like Allura said: totally abandoned. There’s no one else here.”_

_“Everything’s fine, Keith,”_ Shiro says, in that way of his that’s at once calming, in control, and slightly preoccupied. The data continues to trickle in.

Keith’s not consoled, crossing his arms over his chest. “How much longer?”

“I have faith in you guys, even if Keith doesn’t,” Lance says loudly.

_“We’re almost there,”_ Shiro says, before Keith can bite out a retort. Keith settles for a glare; Lance sticks his tongue out. “ _Pidge?”_

_“Thirty seconds.”_ Pidge’s typing floats through the speakers, steady and unceasing. _“Just gotta upload through the current date and we’ll be good to go._ _Our Lions aren’t far, we’ll be back before you know it.”_

Keith’s stomach drops, a sudden swoop.

“What?” Lance asks, poking suspiciously at his arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are there ghosts in this castle? I thought we got rid of them.”

“Too soon, man,” Hunk says from his chair.

“Not ghosts.” Something cold settles in Keith’s chest. “If those records go through _today_ \- how abandoned did you say this place was?”

Pidge’s typing grinds to a halt.

The jokes drain from Lance in an instant. Hunk looks up, eyes wide.

Allura turns back to her console, face lined in horror. “Pidge! Shiro! Get out of there -”

_“Pidge, look out!”_ Shiro yells. A terrible crash rips through the speakers, echoing around the bridge in a scrambled burst of static. The stream of data on the screens stutters and winks out.

Stunned silence reigns over the bridge, horrid and thick. It’s a breathless moment of tension before the static clears and the speakers relay the unmistakable sounds of battle: clanging weapons, heavy fire, the zip-spawn of a shield, and the ricochet of blaster bolts.

“What’s happening?” Lance demands.

“Wait,” Allura orders. Keith freezes halfway to the door and only because Hunk’s snagged his arm. “Paladins! What’s going on?”

“ _Not abandoned!”_ Shiro says, sharp-edged and curt. _“Pidge -“_

_“I see ‘em.”_ The unmistakable sound of electricity zips over the speakers, crisp and zagged. Something gurgles in choked off pain. “ _Ha!”_

“ _Nice work,”_ Shiro says, over the gasping breaths of battle, the slap of feet on the floor, the _swoosh_ of a weapon zipping through the air. The microphones in the helmets are almost too clear. _“Allura, we -“_

_“What is_ **_that_** _?”_ Pidge chokes. Shiro sucks in a sharp breath -

The line cuts out.

“Paladins!” Allura barks, “Paladins, can you hear me?”

A low pervasive ringing fills the speakers.

“Get to your Lions,” Allura commands, a barely-controlled tremor, but they’re already out the door.

 

_“We never should have sent them alone,”_ Lance swears, as they race through the procedure (zip line, speeder; whose bright idea was it to have the path to the Lions _so long_ ) to get to their Lions.

_“How did our sensors miss this?”_ Hunk asks. _“There wasn’t supposed to be anyone down there!”_

_“We can figure out the error in our calculations later,”_ Allura orders. _“Shiro! Pidge! Paladins, can you hear me?”_

There’s no answer; just the frustrating ring of empty feedback in their helmets. Keith drops off the zip line into the speeder, from the speeder to his Lion. Red’s already awake and raring to go, alive beneath his hands on the controls. Keith slams on the button for the hangar door without fanfare and Red rockets out of the Castle into the openness of space, fast and angry. Blue and Yellow join to the left and right. The planet looms ahead of them, a traitorous amber-green marble hung in space.

_“What’s the status, Allura?”_ Lance asks through their helmets as the Lions race towards the planet at full speed. Their comms are fully operational.

_“I’m sending you their last known location,”_ Allura says, her face popping up on the panels in their peripherals. Keith doesn’t spare the attention for it, gunning forward. Space is empty but for them. _“We’re not getting any updated data from their suits. Everything’s stalled.”_

_“You don’t think -”_ Hunk starts, horrified. The constant ringing in their ears is nearly deafening, for all that it isn’t that loud, for all that it isn’t the two voices they desperately need to hear.

_“No, they’re still alive,”_ Allura says firmly. _“We have to hope their communication has only been interrupted.”_

“Some sort of jamming frequency?” Keith asks.

_“Possibly,”_ Allura agrees grimly. _“You’ll have to -“_

The comms interrupt with a wail, the ringing snapping off.

_“NO,”_ Pidge screams, so loudly all of the Paladins wince,  _“That’s - no!”_

_“PIDGE!”_ Lance yells.

_“You have to keep going!”_ That’s Shiro, that’s definitely Shiro, but the connection’s staticky and keeps dropping his words. “ _Get - your Lion, the others have to -”_

_“We’re here, we’re here!”_ Hunk shouts. The Lions burst into atmosphere, the heat engulfing them in flames as they drop. _“Guys, we’re here! Where are you?”_

_“- not on your life,”_ Pidge says. Her voice is clearer. _“We can do this, just give me your hand!”_

The nightmare of the situation solidifies, cold and horrid.

“They can’t hear us,” Keith says, stunned.

Shiro grits out, _“It won’t -“_

_“Guys, just hang on,”_ Lance shouts, _“We’re coming! We’re almost there!”_

“They can’t hear us, they can’t hear us!” Keith yells, frantic. “We have to -”

_“- your_ **_arm,_ ** _”_ Pidge finishes, and that’s fear, that’s distinctive terror in her words -

_“Pidge, behind you!”_ Shiro cries, but they barely hear him over Pidge’s scream.

The line drops.

“PIDGE!”

This time there’s no hum of feedback - nothing but distinct all-encompassing silence. Keith breaks through the cloud cover, too little too late. The surface of the planet spreads before them, curved and marked with vegetation. Tall desert trees stretch upwards, scattered tight between towering formations of rock, clumped in dense groups along the bank of a harsh and raging river. Allura’s location marker blips to the north. The three Paladins race in that direction, casting fast and sudden swoops of shadows above the treeline. With the speed of their Lions, it’s not a long flight. It’s still entirely too many ticks for comfort before they reach where Shiro and Pidge were investigating, an old colony carved into the steep walls of a small mountain, its face a sheer wall of rock.

The coordinates are empty. No Pidge, no Shiro, no Lions.

“Allura?” Keith demands.

Coran’s face solidifies into view below Allura. _“We’re getting two different readings.”_

_“That’s not good,”_ Hunk says. Yellow hovers closest to the mountain’s surface and the only visible entrance, plenty tall for humans, too small for Lions. Blue surges around the mountain’s curve, scouting the other side and then back to the peak.

_“The Black Lion and the Green Lion are going in opposite directions,”_ Allura reports. Her voice isn’t shaking, it isn’t. _“Can you see them? The Black Lion’s to the west and the Green is southeast. They’re both moving fast -"_

_“There!”_ Lance cries. Keith whips his head to the left and bites back a swear. The Black Lion is a blur in the distance, low to the ground. Her belly barely clears the trees as she races for a drop in the horizon. _“Guys?”_

Keith’s already turning. “I got her -”

Hunk yells over the comms, _“Guys, there’s something in the water!”_

_“The water heading for the_ waterfall _?”_ Lance gasps.

Keith pulls up short. Red jerks her head around. The river rages below, a fat angry stripe of aqua water stretching south and carrying something along its current - some _one_ because their head breaks the surface, a flash of telltale green -

“ _Pidge!”_

Yellow bolts forward, but Hunk’s built for defense, not speed. Blue’s faster but too far away to get there in time -

Keith spares half a tick towards the western skyline. The Black Lion’s gone from view.

_“KEITH!”_ Lance yells.

Keith yanks the controls back and shoots past both his teammates for the river.

It’s a desperate race. The current jerks Pidge along, her green helmet barely breaking the surface before she’s pulled back under. Red rockets forward but the river’s relentless and Pidge is dragged quick, pulled to the edge of the ravine - to the _waterfall -_

“Come _on_ ,” Keith shouts and Red responds with a roar of agreement, thrusters whining, straining, reaching. For a second he thinks they’ll make it. Pidge is there, closer, they just need -

They don’t make it.

There’s just enough time to glimpse the flailing set of white-green-tipped limbs before Pidge falls over the edge - her helmet’s still not working so they don’t hear if she screams -

“ _PIDGE!”_

\- the Green Lion bursts from the ravine, jaws wide. Pidge tumbles over the waterfall and straight into Green’s waiting mouth.

_“YES,”_ Lance cheers.

_“‘Atta Lion,”_ Hunk hollers.

Keith breathes an imperceptible sigh of relief and pulls up.

Green Lion rises from the ravine and floats to a landing on the cliff’s edge, setting down. She opens her massive mouth and a torrent of water spills out, the tiny green Paladin tumbling out with the stream. The other Lions land next to Green. Red’s paws barely touch solid ground before Keith’s bolting out of his seat and racing for the hatch.

“Pidge!”

Pidge picks herself up from the enormous puddle, choking and sputtering. Her helmet’s only half active, the face shield over her mouth rescinded. Keith is there first, crouching right away to loop his arm through her elbow and help her up.

“Guys,” Pidge tries, but she can’t catch her breath. Lance takes her other arm and Hunk’s got his hand on her back, pounding helpfully. Pidge hacks up the rest of the river in great, terrible noises.

“Your helmet -“ Hunk starts.

“Never activated,” Pidge croaks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She’s shivering, water dripping from every inch and crack of the suit. “Shorted. Before. How did -“

“You guys cut out,” Lance says, “You alright?”

“What happened?” Keith asks, “Where’s -”

“We have to go back,” Pidge cries, frantic with every returning breath. “Shiro - there’s no time!”

“Slow down,” Lance urges, “Pidge, hey!”

_“Is that Pidge?”_ Allura demands, insistent in their ears,  _“Paladins, what’s happening?”_

“Her helmet’s busted,” Keith says, grabbing at Pidge, but she’s too fast and darts through his fingers, turning back towards her Lion. She overbalances and slips in the puddle, going down in a pile of flailing limbs.

Hunk catches her. “Pidge, stop!”

_“There’s a button under the right arm by the shoulder joint that will reset the suit,”_ Coran says,  _“Do you see it?”_

“Get off me,” Pidge snaps, as Lance yanks her arm straight up in the air.

“Coran says there’s a switch, we can reset you,” Lance says sharply, and then hesitates. “Uh -”

“Fine, go ahead,” Pidge says, twitching with impatience. Lance carefully reaches under her arm to the top of her ribcage, depressing the aforementioned switch.

Feedback rings in all their helmets, popping bright and loud and brief. Pidge jerks her arm out of Lance’s grip.

_“Green Paladin back online!”_ Coran cheers.

_“There you are,”_ Allura says, her relief audible. _“Pidge, are you hurt?”_

“I’m fine,” Pidge says, and her voice carries to their natural ears and through the helmet. The quality’s not clear but Pidge is already moving, shaking them off as Green crouches and opens her mouth. “Let's go. We have to get Shiro. _Now_.”

 

_“I’m sending you the Black Lion’s flight path,”_ Allura says as soon as Keith’s thrown himself into the cockpit again. A blinking map hovers in the screens to the left, a charted route jagged across the surface. Keith studies it, trusting Red to get them safely into the air. The route doubles back on itself several times, but the Black Lion’s not visible anywhere out his actual view screen. _“You must catch up to her. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”_

_“Copy,”_ Hunk reports.

_“Not a problem,”_ Lance says. Blue races by out of the corner of Keith’s vision; Red pushes faster. _“Pidge, what the hell happened?”_

_“We were ambushed, that’s what.”_ Pidge’s connection is grainy but she’s gritting her teeth, her words clipped and furious. It’s good to hear her voice. _“The whole thing was a trap. They were after Shiro from the beginning.”_

“Galra?” Keith asks, hot anger curling low in his stomach.

_“No,”_ Pidge says, sharp, _“but working for them. Or planning on it.”_

_“Are you absolutely sure?”_ Coran asks. His frown is audible.

_“I’m sorry, does_ ‘that’s him, grab his arm’ _sound ambiguous to you?”_ Green dips under an arched rock formation, almost too fast. _“You didn’t hear what they said.‘_ Someone’s going to pay top dollar if he’s delivered as promised’ _\- that vague enough? Of course I’m sure!”_

_“Okay, so not good.”_ Lance angles Blue around the same formation. _“Allura, how close?”_

_“She’s still on the move.”_ The tracking line updates, jumping ahead a distance Keith doesn’t spare the bandwidth to calculate. The Black Lion’s fast; Red’s faster. They’ll make it. They have to. _“Pidge, how many were there?”_

_“Half a dozen? Ten? I wasn’t exactly counting.”_

Yellow swerves around a curve of rock. _“So not an army. That’s good, guys.”_

“Independents?” Keith asks, frowning. “Like Rolo and Nyma?”

_“More prepared,”_ Pidge counters. Green pulls up sharp to avoid the curve, over instead of around. _“They were ready for us, they had a - they had -“_

She falters.

_“Pidge,”_ Lance says urgently. _“Pidge, what did they have?”_

_“We heard some of it.”_ Yellow falls in line with Green, Hunk subtly readjusting their formation. _“Some kind of a weapon? A machine-thing?”_

“What did they do to Shiro’s arm?” Keith interrupts sharply.

_“They_ **_broke it_** _."_ Pidge’s voice shakes with fury. _“They had some kind of - some kind of magnetic_ **_machine_ ** _and it destabilized everything in the room: my bayard, our suits, Shiro’s arm. It was awful. It was just dead weight - he couldn’t -"_

_“Take a deep breath,”_ Allura suggests. The planet’s trees ripple with the force of the Lions’ passing. _“How were you separated?”_

_“They pushed me into the river.”_ Keith’s willing to bet Pidge did not take the prescribed deep breath. _“I couldn’t do anything. Shiro - he tried, but he - I couldn’t reach him. They took him and he’s helpless; they’re going to ship him back to the Galra!”_

Coran’s voice is firm and grounding, cutting right through Pidge’s panic. _“This is not your fault, Paladin. Whoever has Shiro, they’re still on planet. Allura and I haven’t seen a single ship leave atmosphere since you five went down to the surface in the first place. If they were planning to take him off-planet they would already have done so.”_

“So they’ve gone to ground,” Keith says grimly.

_“I would too if there were five angry Lions and a Castle after me,”_ Lance interjects.

_“They might’ve taken him, but we’re not letting them keep him,”_ Hunk vows. _“Allura?”_

_“The Black Lion’s just ahead. You’ll be there in six ticks.”_

The map shifts to a blinking dot, bold and solidly stationary in the distance. There’s still no visual sign of Black through Keith’s window, despite how fast they’re moving.

“Can you get anything from her?” It’s a long shot, but Allura’s connection with the Lions is still something Keith doesn’t fully understand.

Lance offers, _“Blue says that -“_

A whining blast bursts into their conversation, a wave of sound so fierce it lurches all of them in their seats. The Lions halt, pulling up short. A column of purple light shoots upwards from a canyon directly ahead, the beam’s edges shimmering with heat. The radiant energy splits the air, humming deep and vicious.

_“What is that?”_ Hunk yells.

_“We see it,”_ Coran cuts in, shocked. _“Is that -“_

The speakers amplify Allura’s gasp over the whistle of the light. _“It can’t be.”_

_“What?”_ Lance echoes, pitch rising, _“Can’t be what?”_

_“The ancient weapon of the Nafralians,”_ Allura breathes. The column vanishes, dissipating upwards until there’s nothing left but a purple afterimage when Keith blinks, shocking against his retina. _“Something’s clearly released a phenomenal amount of energy - something big is going on down there!”_

_“That’s right where the Black Lion is!”_ Pidge exclaims.

A deafening roar shatters the air where the column had been, rocking all four of the Paladins nearly out of their chairs. Blue light flashes from the canyon, quick and then gone.

“C’mon!” Keith shouts, starting to pull on the controls. He’s barely touched them when Red responds without his command, rocketing forward so fast he’s thrown back in his seat. Keith yelps in surprise.

_“Blue!”_ Lance yells. In Keith’s peripheral Blue’s not far behind, keeping pace almost easily as they race the final few ticks towards the canyon. _“Blue, girl, what’re you doing?!”_

_“Is she going nuts?”_ Hunk asks, Yellow following them in a careening lunge. _“Because mine definitely just went into overdrive!”_

_“Not nuts,”_ Pidge corrects, her signal distorted further with their speed, _“Look!”_

They clear the tree-pocked earth and the ground drops away, sharp and steep. The Black Lion paces at the bottom of a ravine, her tail a deadly whip as it flicks back and forth between the canyon’s walls. Smoke and debris rise from the rock in front of her. Her head lifts as they approach and she roars - the same from earlier, worse and almost desperate now that they’re close. All four of the Lions respond in kind.

_“Did we know they could do that?”_ Hunk asks blankly as his Lion swoops down. The others follow suit, a rapid descent Keith’s not entirely sure he plotted.

_“Blue, you never fail to surprise me,”_ Lance croons, as the Blue Lion sets her paws on solid ground. She lowers her jaw, mouth sliding open. _“Good kit - hey, no, wait -”_

_“Stop!”_ Hunk shouts.

_“I can get out on my own!”_ Pidge squawks in their helmets.

Keith’s chair slides backwards rapidly, jerking his hands from the controls as it rolls back down towards the hatch. He doesn’t have time to protest before the four of them are unceremoniously ejected from their Lions, spit out low to the ground. Keith rolls to an awkward stop in the dust some several feet away, unharmed. Hunk groans to his left; Pidge picks herself up for the second time today to Keith’s right.

“That was so not nice,” Lance moans, staggering to his feet. The air of the planet hits Keith as he stands as well, a wave of thick dry heat. The sun, a pale yellow orb far above, is just starting to go down. The canyon walls are illuminated in bitter light, dust motes dancing in the odd shiver of a foreign dusk.

The Black Lion stands above them, unerringly facing the damaged canyon wall.

“In there, huh,” Pidge says, thoughtful.

The canyon’s wall towers above them. The debris has largely been pushed to one side except for a few huge chunks of embedded rock. They’re stacked haphazardly atop one another, stretching high overhead, but at the very top is an open space that the wind whistles out of.

“We’re gonna need to break through this,” Keith says, studying the blocked path. The edges of an archway are just visible beyond some of the stones, carved with runes he doesn’t recognize. “This a back door or something?”

“Doesn’t look like it’s been used in a while,” Hunk says, rapping his knuckles against the rocks. Lance joins him, brushing his hand by the Black Lion’s foot in passing. His fingers are so small against her gigantic paw.

Keith taps at a spot on the rough barrier. “We can get through here. A good hit should do it; a small shot -”

The Black Lion whines above them, her lasers already charging.

“No!” Lance yelps, throwing himself over her foot. She’s so big he can’t even encompass one of her toes. “No no no, don’t do that. Calm down, it’s okay. We got this. I promise.”

Black reluctantly subsides.

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees, peering at the wall. “Right there oughta do it.”

“Wait,” Pidge says. She races back up the ramp into her Lion, emerging a few ticks later with a small robot cupped in her hands. Its tan round head is propped up on a body of many mechanical legs. “Let’s see if anyone’s on the other side first.”

“What’s that?” Lance asks, blinking.

“This little girl is Scout.” Pidge places the little robot by the blocked wall, tapping a command into the panel on her wrist. Scout whirs to life, beeping once in salute before climbing wiggle-fast up the surface of the rocks. Her legs click-click-click against the stone as she clambers up to the hole at the top. She’s through fast, gone from sight. “Her camera’s infrared, so she should be able to tell us if anyone’s in the space and make a basic map. Coran, are you able to - “

“ _I’ve got it,”_ Coran says through their helmets. The map on Pidge’s wrist transfers to their visors, tucked away in the corner of Keith’s left eye. _“All clear on the other side.”_

_“Paladins,”_ Allura says, sharply,  _“Be careful. Whatever that huge energy blast was, you cannot afford to be caught up in another.”_

“Avoid bright glowing lights. Got it,” Hunk says, pulling Pidge up and away from the wall.

_“If they use the magnetized machine Pidge mentioned, we won’t be able to help or contact you. You must retrieve Shiro before they can take him off planet. Time is crucial.”_

“Fast, furious, guns blazing,” Lance says, cracking his neck. His lips quirk upwards, the smirk of the battle-ready. “My favorite style.”

_“We’ll keep an eye on the situation from here, but if any ship breaks atmosphere we’ll need you to return to your Lions immediately.”_

“We’re not leaving Shiro,” Keith says flatly.

Allura’s response is equally blunt. _“Then you must hurry.”_

Keith doesn’t dignify that with a response. Scout’s map develops in the corner of his vision, the little robot already hard at work. Time for them to do their part, too. “Hunk?”

“I got this,” Hunk declares, and summons his bayard. The yellow cannon settles easily in his hands.

Lance rests his palm against the Black Lion one more time, flat and earnest. “We’ll get him back. Don’t you worry.”

_Hang on, Shiro_ , Keith swears. Hunk aims; Pidge nods. _I’m not letting them take you from me again._

 

They encounter absolutely no problems on the inside. Nobody attacks. Nobody stops them. Nobody even seems to know they’re there. No red dots pop up on the infrared map, not even near the narrow staircase (a perfect place for an ambush) or the wide bridge they cross, barrier railing dull and inactive on either side. The river rushes below, loud in the cave’s unnatural quiet.

“No sentries?” Lance comments as they turn towards another staircase. “Where is everyone?”

“They’ve had half a dozen opportunities to attack by now and haven’t,” Keith says. Lance traces his hand along the wall, fingers running through thick dust. “They’ve gotta know we’re coming. Nobody’s that stupid.”

“I dunno, guys,” Hunk says. “Maybe they really were working alone?”

“Maybe,” Pidge says, but she’s skeptical. Keith can’t blame her for being cautious. Pidge taps at her wrist; a three-dimensional map projects in the darkness of the caves, pinging several floors down. “We’re looking for clusters of warmth. A group of bodies, a control room -“

“There,” Keith says, pointing. An entire corner of the third subfloor lights up, staining the map with angry red. It stretches up through the second and first floors in a fading line.

“That’s a lot of residual energy,” Hunk says, mouth pressed thin. “The explosion?”

Lance frowns as well. “Let’s start there. If we don’t find Shiro, we find the source of the energy. That’s gotta be something.”

“Done.” Pidge taps the map away, though their destination logs in Keith’s visor as it tracks a route. “Let’s go.”

The pingbacks from Scout’s infrared increase in frequency as they work their way down, the red room looming closer and closer. One more flight of stairs - two long halls - three careful turns with Lance and Hunk checking around every corner. They’re deep under the surface and quite a ways from their impromptu back door when Lance holds out his hand, gesturing for them to stop.

“Wait. See that?”

Keith pokes his head carefully around the corner. A light glows from underneath a closed door halfway down the hall, obvious and bright in the cavern’s dark gloom.

“What do we think?” Hunk’s whisper echoes in the stillness. “Guns blazing?”

“Unless anyone has a better idea,” Pidge says.

“Guns work.” Lance’s bayard materializes, blue rifle angled casually over his shoulder. He brings it down, ready. “Let’s do this.”

“Count of three,” Keith says firmly. “One.”

They curve around the corner, silent and quick.

“Two.”

Pidge presses her back to the wall by the door, green bayard activated. Keith mirrors her on the other side, flicking his bayard to summon the red sword. Lance and Hunk take position, guns ready.

“Three!”

They burst into the room and immediately trip over a pile of junk clustered in front of the door. Lance squawks, dragging Hunk down; Pidge and Keith round the corner too fast and slam into them. Everyone goes down in a tangle of unprepared Paladin limbs.

“Get off me,” Lance wheezes from the bottom.

Keith rolls off the flailing pile and to the side, ready and tense. Harsh light blinds him before his visor corrects, a quarter-tick of instantaneous response. Shelves crammed with mess and wires brace the walls of the room, half-dormant machines blinking in warning. A tall wide table stands in the middle of the massive space, bolted to the floor directly underneath a ragged hole in the ceiling.

Two aliens blink at them from the table’s other side, surprised. A thin packing crate is open in front of them where they’ve paused in the act of lowering something in.

It’s Shiro’s arm.

Keith sees _red._

Everything narrows, tunnel-like. He lunges with a vicious yell. Lance beats him to it, firing a shot of vibrant blue plasma. The alien holding Shiro’s arm goes down, dropping it; the arm clatters off the table, tips to the floor. As the second alien grabs for it, Hunk fires a yellow volley, fast and furious. Their opponent ducks out of the way and barely avoids Keith, swinging the red sword down with a terrible cry. A low hum begins to fill the room.

“The magnet!” Pidge shouts. In the corner a second machine is vibrating its way to wakefulness. Two additional robed aliens stand by it, chattering wildly in shock. She starts towards them, bayard glowing.

“Get down!” Hunk cries, launching himself at Pidge. Lance fires right over their heads. The machine _explodes_.

A burst of heat and purple energy floods through the space. The shockwave rings in Keith’s ears, the room filling with shrapnel and smoke. Keith doesn’t waste time clearing his head but lurches for the table, tunnel-vision focused on the alien hiding underneath.

A door slams open. More attackers race into the room, a quartet of panic, but Keith doesn’t spare the attention. The alien scrambles away from his grip, babbling incoherently. Keith swings. The alien just barely dodges and his sword slices through the hem of their ragged sleeve. They gain their feet, running - Keith moves after them, less a stagger and more a hunter’s stalk, but they’re fast -

Pidge’s bayard zips across the floor, embedding low in the opposite wall. She pulls. The alien trips over the taut green line with a terrified wail, tumbling to the floor. Before they can get up Keith’s on top of them, knee pushed into the center of the alien’s chest, sword tip pressed tight into the alien’s throat.

“Where is he?” Keith shouts, wild and angry. Dimly, he’s conscious of noise in the background, of Lance and Hunk fighting as a team to methodically take out the other attackers. Keith only has eyes for the being at his mercy, for the _answers he has to have_. “What have you done with Shiro?”

The alien grins, a sickly spread of putrid teeth, and impales itself forward on Keith’s bayard.

Hot green blood splatters on Keith’s armor. Keith jerks back, his bayard dematerializing into his horrified grip, but the damage is done. The alien shudders, a last effort, and stills.

The quiet of the room presses down, empty of battle and answers. Four Paladins breathe in the fluorescent space, smoke blowing careful and slight from the breeze in the hole of the ceiling.

“Keith,” Hunk says, shakily.

“No,” Keith says, numb. It can’t be. They can’t be too late. They _can’t be_. He braces back on his heels; a hand grips his tightly, and Keith lets Lance help him up without even a protest. Lance’s face is grim and hard, marked with dirt.

_“Paladins?”_ Allura’s voice crackles through their helmets, distorted and dismayed. _“Paladins, are you there?”_

“We are, Shiro’s not,” Hunk reports. Pidge is already picking through the rubble caused by the explosion, gloved hands searching through the debris. “We found the aliens and their machines, but that’s about it.”

“Coran, if you can work anything like Pidge’s infrared magic, now would be a great time,” Lance says.

_“The map’s full of interference,”_ Coran says. Keith pulls away from Lance, scanning the room for anything, any clue: a loose panel in the floor, a hinge in the wall, _anything_. _“There’s too much where you are, I can’t break out any specific signals. If it helps there’s no other heat sources in the five floors around you. Unless Shiro is being held on the eighth or ninth level, he’s somewhere nearby.”_

“Needle in a haystack. Great,” Lance mutters. He raises his voice. “Shiro? Shiro, can you hear me?”

“Guys,” Pidge calls urgently. She’s back at the heap of junk they’d tripped on - no, not junk. It’s a pile of armor, white and edged in shadows. Pidge holds a helmet in her hands, the top of the curve painted black.

Shiro’s helmet.

Cold horror catches in Keith’s throat.

“So he’s somewhere without his armor and without his arm,” Hunk says distantly, helping Pidge gather the pieces. Pidge’s hands shake. Keith forces himself to move, bending under the wide worktable, brushing away a dangling strap as he crouches down. Shiro’s Galra arm is undamaged where it fell on the floor. Keith picks it up, careful and almost reverent. It’s cold beneath his hand. The end where it should connect to Shiro’s bicep is clean: no exposed wires, no blood. The port is clear.

Misjudging the distance, Keith stands too soon and slams his head on the underside of the table. “Ow!”

“You okay down there, genius?” Lance’s legs move closer to Keith’s position, but Keith doesn’t notice. His gaze is caught on an impossibility.

There’s a gap in the wall.

It’s small, low to the ground and easily missed from above. Keith blinks several times before he’s sure of what he’s seeing. The wall along the floor is shimmering, an electric shudder just a few inches square. Steady wall one second, sizzling static the next. A flicker - quick - repeating and gone.

“Keith,” Lance repeats, closer to his ear. Keith jumps; Lance has joined him under the table, frowning. “What -“

“That isn’t a wall,” Keith says sharply, already crawling forwards. He staggers to his feet on the other side of the table and moves towards the far side of the room.

It’s undeniable from here. Keith crouches by the little panel of shaking wall, scattering unsteadily in the overhead lights.

“That’s a barrier,” Pidge breathes. Lance presses his hand to the wall by his shoulders. It pulses beneath his palm but doesn’t give, rippling back into immovable stone. It’s only the patch in front of Keith that appears to be broken, a malfunctioning few inches of wall no bigger than his hand. “The mechanism must’ve gotten fried in the explosion.”

“Here,” Hunk says suddenly. He reaches up and pulls a lever hidden in the shelf, badly obscured by broken beakers.

The wall disappears immediately, a curtain of electricity sucked upwards and vanishing from view. There’s three more feet of space behind it, stretching back towards a second, real wall.

It’s a wall of doors.

“Woah,” Lance gasps. A high row of thin windows line the space above the doors, one narrow slit per entrance. Most of the doors are ajar, wafting stale air back into the room. A few are closed, the floor in front of them thick with undisturbed dust. The locking mechanism on exactly one of the doors blinks a steady, occupied red.

_Gotcha_.

Pidge slices through the lock cleanly with her bayard, the metal heating briefly and falling away in two pieces. Keith pulls on the door with everything he has. It scrapes along the rock floor with a whine, creaking in protest as the hinges move. Light from the room behind them spills into the narrow, closet-like cell. Keith yanks the door all the way open -

\- and freezes in shock.

“No,” Lance says, jaw dropping. “No _way_.”

“What -” Hunk stutters, staring.

“Impossible,” Pidge whispers.

It’s Shiro, hunched back in the far corner of the cramped cell. He’s conscious. He’s alive. He’s also improbably, undeniably, inexplicably _sm_ _all._

It’s Shiro, and he’s _young_. The scar stretches across the bridge of his nose, his white bangs tangled above terrified eyes. If he was standing he might come up past Keith’s knee, just barely. As it is, Shiro’s curled in on himself in a painfully tight ball, huddling under a ragged, stained excuse for a tunic the aliens must have forced him into. The right sleeve flops empty. He’s shivering.

It’s Shiro, shrunk down to a miniature, wide-eyed, three-year-old version of himself.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, completely and utterly floored.

Shiro, _tiny Shiro,_ gasps. He scrambles at the back wall, pressing himself further into the corner as he stares up at the four shell-shocked Paladins with desperate, naked fear. He chokes out three lost and miserable words:

“Who are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is amnesia, the Paladins re-introduce themselves, and smol!Shiro makes some choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you for all the love on this fic!! I'm delighted so many people are excited about smol!Shiro. Love and so many thanks to my beta and bff [Andy,](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/) who held my hand through some tough spots this go-around and always boosts my confidence when I'm stuck. Thanks for your patience and insight as always my dear. <3
> 
> After the events of the last week, I’m fairly certain what fandom needs right now is for someone to pick Shiro up, take care of him, and give him the world’s biggest hug. Plus a blanket and a nap.
> 
> I GOT YOU, FANDOM.
> 
> (Partly.)

“Who are you?” Shiro repeats.

Tear tracks have barely dried on his little cheeks, fresh and new. His left hand is curled against his chest, the stump of his missing arm angled back toward the wall. There’s a sick puddle of vomit in the opposite corner, exactly the green of the space goop they’d had that morning.

“Uh - ” Keith’s speechless. The team’s not much help: their faces mirror his own shock and confusion. Lance is frowning, brow furrowed and intense. “Shiro, we’re your friends. We’re here to - we’re here to rescue you.”

Shiro shakes his head, the movement stilted and scared. The lack of recognition is jarring; the terror in Shiro’s wide eyes as his gaze jumps from Paladin to Paladin is nauseating. Shiro’s usual confidence, his strength, his casual graceful reassurances -  they aren’t there. His vulnerability rocks Keith to his core.

Keith takes a careful step forward. “Hey -”

“Stay back!” Shiro cries. His bare feet scramble at the floor as he tries to tuck himself further into the corner. “Don’t - I don’t know you!”

That stings. Keith pulls his hand back immediately. “Okay -”

“Keith,” Lance says urgently. Keith jumps at the hand against his arm, surprisingly firm. “You’re scaring him.”

“I know, Lance,” Keith bites out.

“No.” Lance squeezes tighter, fingers digging in. “You’re covered in blood. _You’re_ scaring him.”

The stains from the alien’s grisly death have dried on Keith’s armor, spattered and grotesquely green-grey. It’s not a comforting sight by any means, one that Shiro’s gaze flits frantically over. Keith swallows hard.

“Let me,” Lance suggests. “Just - scoot a bit.”

Shiro only barely flinches when Keith turns back to him. The constant eye contact is a clear act of bravery in the face of unbelievable circumstances. Pride wells up in Keith, brief and bloomingly protective. It’s still Shiro, even wounded and sick and shrunk.

 _“What is happening?”_ Allura demands, her voice startling. _“Paladins, did you find Shiro?”_

“Uh, yeah, we found him,” Hunk stutters. Shiro’s gaze flickers up to the Yellow Paladin briefly, but there’s no recognition there either. “He’s…uh. He’s fine?”

_“Elaborate, please. Your Earthling definition of ‘fine’ is never reassuring.”_

“Uh - ” _Help me,_ Hunk mimes desperately. Pidge shakes her head, bewildered. Keith lets Lance tug him out of the way. “Uh, it’s cool, it’s cool. He - kind of - doesn’t know who we are.”

 _“Amnesia?”_ Allura says sharply.

“You could say that?”

_“We’ll prepare a cryo pod immediately. How long until your return? Is he mobile?”_

“I’m not sure a cryo pod can fix this...”

 _“Nonsense, the cryo pods can fix any injury,”_ Coran scoffs, offended. Hunk groans. _“The technology -“_

 _“Can you get Shiro to your Lion?”_ Allura interrupts before Coran can get started. _“Can you carry him, or should I -"_

“Trust me, that’s not gonna be an issue,” Hunk says drily.

“Hunk,” Lance hisses. He pulls off his helmet, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “Take your disembodied conversation elsewhere. Shiro doesn’t need this.”

“Sorry!” Hunk casts a sympathetic and worried look at Shiro - still staring wide-eyed up at him - and retreats hastily back into the outer room.

“Pidge, go with him,” Lance says. “Any research you can find out there, books, data, on what did this and how we can undo it. Pack it up.”

“Got it.” Pidge smiles tentatively at Shiro on her way out. He doesn’t return the gesture.

When she’s gone, Lance turns to Keith.

“I’m staying,” Keith says flatly, pulling his helmet off too. His hair’s stuck to the back of his neck with sweat. He glares at Lance, silently daring him to argue.

Their eyes meet, and Lance’s are not angry, upset, or offended. _I have a plan,_  his body language says.

Keith blinks. _Oh._

“Okay,” he says, instead. Lance nods and crouches down, setting his helmet on the floor beside him. Keith follows suit.

“Shiro,” Lance says. His voice is low, soft and reassuring. “I’m Lance. This is Keith. We’re your friends. It’s okay if you don’t remember. We’re just gonna talk to you for a while, okay? That alright?”

Shiro doesn’t respond, watching with that same wild, cautious suspicion. He doesn’t make any move away from the wall.

“Okay,” Lance says, unperturbed, and he’s so calm about it that Keith’s taken aback.  Lance is even smiling a little, kind and warm. “Sorry about earlier. We didn’t mean to scare you. I know this is frightening. You’ve had a long day, huh?”

Shiro still doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker to Keith. Keith tries for a smile of his own, but it’s hard when all he’s got is worry. They can’t stay. They need to get Shiro somewhere safer, somewhere where they can reverse what’s happened without the ominous hum of machinery in the outer room. Lance’s plan is well and good, but it’s taking entirely too long.

“That’s alright,” Lance continues, apparently not in a hurry whatsoever. Shiro’s gaze slips back to him. Keith’s familiar with Lance’s particular brand of confidence ( _unique_ is usually the appropriate word), but this - this full level of grace and utter focus on the charge in front of him -

Keith’s never seen Lance quite like this before.

“It’s over now,” Lance says, still so gentle. “You’re safe. No one’s touching you if you don’t want them to, okay? We’re just gonna sit here for a couple ticks. No rush for anything. You’re safe. I promise.”

Shiro just stares, his eyes narrowed in something Keith can’t entirely name. Confusion? If the wheels are turning, Keith can’t tell.

They wait. Keith resists the urge to fiddle with his helmet, shifting slightly and stopping the second Shiro’s eyes dart to him. They have to wait. Shiro’s gaze slides back to Lance. Lance’s focus is entirely, one-hundred-percent unshakable from the cell, from Shiro and whatever thoughts are tumbling through Shiro’s panicked, altered mind. Lance is utterly dedicated and Keith can’t do anything but honor that.

Their patience is rewarded.

“What’s a tick?” Shiro whispers. He’s so quiet Keith can barely hear him.

“Little slower than a second,” Lance answers evenly. His steady voice never changes. “Give or take. Kind of a strange word, huh?”

“Kind of,” Shiro mumbles.

“There’s weirder ones,” Lance says. He flashes Shiro a new sort of smile, so warm and utterly compassionate that it’s practically breathtaking. Shiro can’t look away from him. Neither can Keith. “I bet you know all kinds. Wanna tell me a weirder one?”

Shiro shakes his head, slow.

“Okay,” Lance says simply. Does nothing phase him? “That doesn’t look very comfortable. Are you hurt?”

“No,” Shiro says, sharp and sudden. The way he clings at the stump of his arm betrays him.

“You can tell me,” Lance urges. Honestly, at this point even _Keith_ would tell him anything.

Shiro doesn’t. His breathing hitches, picking up pace.

“That’s fine,” Lance says, a little more urgently. “I’m not gonna push. Tell you what: how would you like it if we got out of here, huh? No more of these walls and underground creepy cave stuff. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“That’s what the aliens said.” A harsh tremor ripples through Shiro, his breathing ratcheting up, his eyes dilating as the fear visibly chokes him.

“Shiro,” Keith interrupts, unable to keep quiet anymore. Shiro’s eyes snap to him; Lance stiffens. Keith pitches his voice like Lance’s, easy and settled. Comforting. If Lance can do this so can he. “It’s okay. We know what they did.”

“You do?” The tremor stops as Shiro draws in a full breath. “How?”

“Keith knows a lot of things,” Lance says, and if Keith hadn’t already decided to _not be surprised anymore today_ that would absolutely do it.

“We know what they did,” Keith repeats. It’s not entirely a lie. “And I know that we’re going to undo it. You’ll be okay.”

“You just have to be brave, _chico,_ ” Lance says, playing off Keith. “We’re gonna do everything we can so you can get better. But we can’t do that if you’re still here in this cell. Do you want that?”

“No,” Shiro whispers. His head lifts, just a little.

“I’m going to come in there and pick you up,” Lance says, slowly, enunciating every word so that Shiro understands. “And my friends and I are going to take you out of here to a magic castle ship where they can help you. How’s that sound? Would you like that?”

Shiro blinks, long lashes dragging against his cheeks. “A castle…ship?”

“Up in space right now,” Keith adds on a whim. Spaceships and posters from days long ago flash in his mind: Shiro’s old room at the Garrison, way back when. Hopefully -

“Space?” Shiro repeats. The tiniest flicker lights into his dark eyes: a spark, an ember, chasing away some of the panic. “I’m gonna go to space someday.”

“A lot sooner than you think,” Lance agrees, and he’s grinning again, the easy smile of a confident older sibling. “Can I come in there and get you?”

 _Come on, Shiro,_ Keith thinks, willing Shiro to understand. _Trust us. We got you._

“Okay,” Shiro says, at last, and uncurls himself inch by inch from the wall.

 

“You got him!” Pidge exclaims. Her helmet’s propped on the table next to no fewer than five active data tablets. Scout sits on her shoulder, the robot’s metal legs tapping with all the grace of a clumsy spider.

“Sure did.” Shiro clings to Lance tightly, propped up against Lance’s hip as Lance carries him. “Shiro, this is Pidge. She’s small and fierce just like you, but she’s not gonna bite.”

“I only bite Lance,” Pidge agrees with a wicked grin.

“Hey!”

Shiro ducks his head into Lance’s neck, suddenly shy. Lance grins and tightens his grip.

“Got tired of listening in?” Keith asks, setting his and Lance’s helmets by Pidge’s green one.

“Hunk’s being a distraction,” Pidge says dismissively, powering off the tablets.

“- what about snake bites?” Hunk’s voice drifts over from the other side of the table where he’s stacking seemingly random pieces of equipment into a crate. The large machine at the foot of the table is dormant next to him, and also rather dismantled. “Do the pods heal that - a snake? They’re reptilian creepy wigglies -“

“Every time Allura interrupts with an actual question Hunk asks Coran another one,” Pidge explains, packing her collection of data into a second crate nearby. The crate’s mostly full, a few others already waiting by the open doorway. “Sets him off again. It’s great.”

“Hunk knows his stuff,” Lance says appreciatively.

“Snakes are usually venomous, yeah.” Hunk waves to get their attention, miming angry confusion and gesturing at his helmet. _Please_ , he mouths. “Are you _sure?_ That’s not, like, an injury, that’s more of a sickness. What? Of course this is just rhetorical -”

Pidge reaches for her helmet. “I’ll tap him out.”

“Hey,” Keith says quietly, stepping closer to Pidge. Lance scoots away with Shiro around the table, wandering towards Hunk. “Don’t tell Allura and Coran just yet. Some things are better explained in person.”

“I’m not even sure how we _would_ explain this one,” Pidge agrees drily, and plops her helmet back on. “Hey, Allura?”

Keith leaves her to it and follows Lance across the room.

“Shiro, this is Hunk,” Lance says, once Hunk’s squeezed out of his helmet, sagging with relief. Shiro peeks an eye out from Lance’s shoulder. “He’s my favorite ball of genius gas. Very smart, super cuddly. He won’t eat you either.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Hunk says, with the gentlest of smiles. To Keith’s surprise Shiro actually flickers a tiny smile back before hiding his face again. “Y’know, when you get over all the - all of it, he’s kind of cute.”

“He can hear you,” Shiro murmurs into Lance’s armor.

“We good to go?” Keith asks, eyeing Hunk’s container.

“Yep.” Hunk pushes a button and the lid slides on, sealing tight. “Allura and Coran haven’t seen any ships, but if these guys were in contact with the Galra it’s just a matter of time. You gonna carry him all that way, Lance?”

“Not a problem.” Lance bounces Shiro just a little to readjust his grip. “Used to do this with my cousins all the time. A few flights of stairs? No sweat.”

“If he gets tired, I’ll give you a piggyback ride,” Hunk says, dropping his voice conspiratorially. Shiro peeks out at him again; Hunk grins and waggles his eyebrows. Shiro ducks his head back, this time with a little noise that might almost be a giggle.

“Stop flirting with my man,” Lance demands, but he’s grinning too.

Pidge coughs loudly from the other side of the table. “Sure, I know where they are. I’ve got all four of them on visual. No, their helmets are working fine. We’re coming back. All of us. Right now. What?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Keith says. “Need a hand, Hunk?”

“Sure.” Hunk slides the box over. “Hey, question. When we get up to the surface, whose Lion is Shiro flying in?”

Shiro pulls away from Lance, blinking curiously. “Lion?”

 

When they finally get out in the open the stars have emerged, twinkling bright overhead. The Lions are right where they left them, a cluster of five particle barriers shimmering in the dark.

Shiro’s jaw drops open.

“Yep,” Lance says, smug. “These are the Lions.”

Keith’s not exactly sure what he expects to happen. The Lions lower their particle barriers as the five Paladins draw near, the colored radiance in the canyon diminishing one by one until only the stars and the silver moon remain. The Black Lion’s eyes illuminate as they approach, glowing gold. With no fanfare or warning she tilts her massive head down, down, down. It’s a smooth motion, fast even to Keith’s eyes. It must be impossible for Shiro in his current size to track. Her enormous jaw stops bare inches from Lance and his miniature cargo. Shiro gasps.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lance starts. It’s not necessary. Shiro squirms in Lance’s arms, flings out his one hand, and presses it unerringly to the Black Lion’s jaw.

A breeze blows through the canyon, cool and brisk with the settling night. It ruffles Shiro’s hair, the tiny tangle of white above his closed eyes. For the first time since the Paladins found him his face is completely, totally calm.

Pidge sucks in a breath. Keith, speechless, agrees.

“She’s beautiful.” Shiro opens his eyes, looking up in sheer awe. “Where does she live?”

“She lives with us,” Hunk offers. Shiro pulls his hand back; the Black Lion pulls away and up, and up, and up. “She’s, uh, a very special sort of Lion.”

“Why?” Shiro asks, innocently.

“Because she can fly, _chico,_ ” Lance says, bouncing Shiro on his hip. “All of ‘em can. Whaddya say? Wanna go for a spin?”

“Hang on a second,” Keith says sharply. “Who says you get to take Shiro up?”

Lance stops, halfway towards Blue who already has her mouth open and the access ramp down. “I - thought that was assumed?”

“We never settled this.” Keith crosses his arms. “Can you even fly one-handed?”

“That’s a good point,” Pidge says.

“Shut up, Pidge,” Lance snaps.

Keith shakes his head. “I’m the better pilot. One-handed’s not a problem.”

“I could fly one-handed in my sleep!” Lance retorts, less a brag and more the beginnings of a heated defense.

“Technically, Yellow’s the safest,” Hunk interrupts helpfully. “I know we’re not expecting interference on a three-minute joyride, but if you wanted to be absolutely sure, he should probably come with me.”

Pidge frowns. “Shiro should choose who he wants to go with.”

Lance talks right over her, glaring at Keith. “Shiro’s staying with me.”

“That’s not the best choice,” Keith argues. Red shifts in agreement behind him, the whir of her jaw hardly subtle. “Red’s fastest. I can get him there _and_ have time to swing back for some of this stuff before you’ve even taken off.”

“It’s not about speed,” Lance bickers, “It’s about Shiro!”

“Exactly!”

Pidge raises her voice, done with their argument. “Shiro, who do you want to ride with?”

Shiro blinks as the fighting dies immediately. Everyone’s attention swivels towards him. “I - get to pick?”

“Yep,” Keith says firmly, before Lance can start up again. “Whoever you want. And whoever you pick’s gonna do it.”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone,” Hunk confirms, raising a pointed eyebrow at Lance.

Lance blows out an exasperated breath. “Fine.”

Shiro glances over at Hunk, patiently waiting. Down at Pidge, who smiles at him. He twists around to look at Lance. Then up, up, up, studying all five of the majestic, magnificent Lions.

Then Shiro looks directly at Keith, and for a second - just a second - something flickers in his eyes. The tiniest seed of recognition, deep and bright.

“Keith,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s heard it.

“Keith?!” Lance squawks.

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, and he’s even smiling. It’s hesitant, more than a little unsure, but Shiro’s tentative confidence lifts Keith’s spirits right up.

“Of course you can ride with me, Shiro.”

“Shirooooo,” Lance wails, a drawn out sound much longer than it needs to be. “I thought we were close! I carried you! How could you betray me?!”

His moan of despair is so over-exaggerated and dramatic that Pidge groans. Keith rolls his eyes. Hunk snorts. Shiro _giggles._

“Oh my god,” Hunk says, his face splitting wide in a grin, “That is the _cutest -"_

Pidge cuts him off. “Why Keith, Shiro?”

Shiro shrugs his good shoulder. “I like red.”

“I always knew you had good taste,” Keith says, grinning with relief. Shiro’s still in there. Shiro’s going to be alright. “C’mere, big guy. We’ll see you all back at the Castle.”

 _“Is anyone going to tell us what’s happening?”_ Allura grumbles in their ears.

“You guys are gonna love this!” Hunk crows.

 

“Wooaaah,” Shiro gasps, speechless with wonder. Space is full of stars, shining pinpoints of light through the window of Red’s cockpit. Keith’s dimmed every console and control to its lowest setting so the cockpit’s only glow is beautiful, silent stars. None are as bright as the joy on Shiro’s face as he drinks in the sight of absolutely _everything_.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Keith says, smiling.

“So cool,” Shiro breathes. It’s not a long flight back to the Castle, a handful of minutes if Keith’s being generous. Shiro’s eyes are wide as saucers, darting from constellation to constellation. He drinks in the pale star of this system’s sun; swivels to stare at the planet yellow-green and left behind; gapes at the silver moon and its three rings, silent and strong. Keith’s not flying deliberately slow so Shiro can take it all in. Nope. Not at all.

“How many are there?” Shiro demands. The Black Lion curves gracefully past their window. Shiro squirms forward on Keith’s lap.

“Stars?” Keith spares a hand to keep Shiro steady. “Billions. Trillions. So many we can’t even count them.”

“I want to visit them all,” Shiro declares. A shooting star streaks briefly to their left.

“Easy there,” Keith says, adjusting their course. The Castle floats ahead, hangars already open and beckoning. “First, let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me so happy! If you liked this chapter please consider leaving one.
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/) if you want to drop me a line over there! I am a spoiler-free blog for the upcoming revelry :) Come yell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Allura and Coran finally meet Shiro, version 0.2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I thought the response to chapter one was enormous. You GUYS. I’m just floored. Thank you for all your comments, kudos, subscriptions, messages - you _make my day._ Quite frankly you pulled me out of a rut on this story. I’ve been stuck on this one chapter for far longer than I want to admit. It’s really only because of your interest and enthusiasm that I was finally able to push through it and bring us here. So if someone tells you (or you ever think!) that leaving a comment or a quick note isn’t worth it - that’s a total lie. If it wasn’t for your interest I may never have finished this chapter (and poor Shiro would be small forever. ….wait). So thank you so so much.
> 
> This chapter’s the lynchpin for much of our upcoming material, and I have two huge thanks to give. First my main beta and dear friend [Andy,](http://ashinan.tumblr.com/) for never getting tired of my self-doubt and for telling me to stop overthinking every single time. You’re too good to me. Secondly, to another dear friend [mumble,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblefox/pseuds/mumblefox) who frankly laid out the story problem I’ve been struggling with for WEEKS in approximately two minutes and as many sentences. Her diagnosis worked so well that the afflicted scene grew by leaps and bounds and carried itself away into the next chapter. You’ll see it next time, but I have to thank her now because if she hadn’t done that I’d still be writing in circles. Just know that mumble is a miracle worker. I left a present in here just for you dear. :)
> 
> Enough words! Smol Shiro!

“Are you certain that’s him?” Coran asks, squinting at the little boy in Keith’s arms. Shiro clings to Keith’s armor, fidgeting under the scrutiny.

“Tiny child with specific white forelock, missing an arm,” Lance deadpans, gesturing.

“…alright, so I stand corrected.” Coran studies Shiro closely, sizing him up and down. Shiro blinks at the large orange mustache, nearly cross-eyed from the proximity. “Simply extraordinary.”

“Leave him alone, Coran, let the rest of us have a turn.” To her credit Allura’d only let out one delighted squeal when presented with the shrunken Paladin, a quickly stifled noise of glee. She’s not even trying to hide her smile, openly beaming as Shiro gazes back at her with something akin to awe. “Hello, little one. Is Keith treating you quite well?”

“We’re fine,” Keith says.

Shiro’s staring at Allura, his mouth open in a tiny ‘o’. “Your _ears.”_

“All the better to hear you with,” Lance comments. Pidge smacks him. “Ow!”

Shiro reaches out with his only arm; Allura takes him from Keith with no fuss whatsover, handling the small child as if he’s the most precious and lightest of gifts. “Are you not the cutest thing, little Paladin? Whatever has happened to you?”

She’s not cooing. Of course not. Shiro reaches tentatively and gently to touch one of her ears.

“Oh sure, _you_ get the ladies,” Lance grumbles half-heartedly.

Allura ignores him, balancing Shiro easily in her arms. “What would you say, Coran? Five Earthling years?”

Coran consults a schematic he’s hastily pulled up on one of the consoles, glancing between it and Shiro. “No, according to this he’s younger. He’s awfully small for the five-year percentiles, but we already know Earthling heights can vary. It largely depends on his ‘developmental milestones’. Does he have all his teeth?”

Five’s still older than Keith thought originally. “Shiro, how old are you?”

Shiro blinks, a tentative pride. “Four and a half.”

“Thank you, little Paladin,” Allura says, scrunching her nose at Shiro, who screws his face up right back at her. She turns to address the other Paladins. “And you couldn’t have just _said?”_

“How were we supposed to explain this?” Pidge gestures hopelessly. “Shiro’s been shrunk by some alien machine thing?”

“Honey, I shrunk the Paladin?” Lance adds, elbowing Hunk.

“Too soon,” Hunk says.

Coran leans in, observing Shiro from all sides. Shiro turns his head to track Coran every time the Altean moves to a new angle. “I see now why Hunk was asking so many questions about the cryo technology. Unfortunately they’ve never been tested in a situation quite like this. It would require significant adjustment.”

“No,” Keith says sharply. They’re not experimenting on Shiro again.

“Precisely why I do not recommend it,” Coran concludes, folding his arms. “It’s less than optimal for someone of his size. The cryo pods have served beings of small stature in the past, but primarily for other maladies - “

“Blood loss, exhaustion, internal damage, long running illness attacking specific body parts, stitching skin and stuff back together, and potentially venomous absorption as well, although I’m not convinced,” Hunk interrupts, ticking off on his fingers. “Shiro’s not any of those. We’re not talking about localized cellular regeneration; we’re talking about _all of them.”_

“There’s no way the pods could work fast enough for that,” Lance says.

“Our cells do regenerate,” Pidge points out thoughtfully. “Although the life cycle’s different depending on which body part we’re talking about. Some blood cells regrow faster than skin cells, and bones take even longer.”

Hunk frowns. “The variable’s too big. We’re talking about cell ages, right?”

“We are not talking about this in front of Shiro,” Allura says firmly.

“I got ‘im.” Lance takes Shiro easily; Shiro goes without hesitation, sparing a tiny wave for Allura. Allura waves back solemnly, or it would be solemn if she wasn’t still beaming at him from ear to ear. “C’mon, _chico._ Let’s go see how many names we can make up for the stars. I bet I can come up with more than you can.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, as they go. “Do you know their actual names, too?”

The doors barely swish closed behind them before Allura turns to the rest of the Paladins. She folds her hands gravely in front of her. “How much does he remember?”

“Not much,” Hunk says. “The aliens really did a number on him.”

“He knew his name,” Pidge corrects. “He recognized the Lions.”

Keith shakes his head. “He recognized the _Black_ Lion. None of the others.”

“He can’t fly the Black Lion in his current condition,” Coran says, closing his Earthling chart.

“Which means we cannot form Voltron until we find a way to return Shiro to his proper age.” Allura’s words are breathless with raw confusion. “The weapon of the Nafralians…this is what my father was interested in?”

“I doubt he knew, Princess,” Coran says, gently.

“It’s pretty intricate, especially when you consider it’s basically a mass cellular degeneration.” Hunk gestures with an open palm. “Which should have killed him outright, all those cells reverting at once? But it didn’t. That says something’s been altered beyond just the cellular level, especially once you pair it with the amnesia he’s experiencing. It’s a _regression._ That’s something we’re gonna have to study.”

Keith folds his arms across his chest. “How do we fix it?”

“The cryo pods are still not an option,” Coran says, tugging at his mustache. “Even if we could program the cellular reproductive rate fast enough to advance an Earthling - oh - roughly two of your decades, correct? That rapid of a regeneration is still highly dangerous. It would take a matter of weeks, if not months, in the pod in order for the process to complete safely. The issue, as Hunk said, is the amnesia.”

Pidge swallows. “So his body would be the right age, but his mind - ”

“I’m afraid so,” Coran says, grimly.

“What?” Keith asks, glancing between them. “What am I missing?”

“Memories are learned,” Coran explains, “as are the ‘developmental milestones’ every sentient being’s growth cycle requires. The cryo technology is no substitute for that. It can restore cells; it can’t and won’t teach a person how to grow. There’s no guarantee Shiro would come out on the other end with enough completed milestones to constitute a decent quality of life. In fact, he very well might come out having skipped all of them.”

Hunk shudders. Allura pales.

Horror bursts in Keith’s chest like a living thing, cold and vicious. “No. We won’t - _no.”_

“We can’t just wait for Shiro to _grow into this,”_ Hunk blurts. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

“I agree,” Allura says. “In his current condition, Shiro is in incredible danger. The Galra may know about the experiment if those you encountered were able to send a message off to them. No matter the size he’s in, Shiro is still a wanted man.”

“Nobody’s going to get to him,” Keith swears.

“They absolutely will not.” Fire flashes in Allura’s eyes, protective and determined. “Until we can determine a safe counter-procedure, Shiro must be kept aboard the ship. Furthermore, none of you are to tell him anything.”

The abruptness of the subject change and the force with which Allura commands it rips through Keith like a shockwave. “Wait. Nothing?”

“Nothing at all?” Pidge clarifies. Hunk just stares, his frown deepening slowly. “But - “

“Nothing,” Allura says firmly. “As adorable as he is, Shiro is still a child. Even Altean children didn’t enter combat until they were at least seven standard rotations old. I will not put Shiro in unnecessary danger.”

“No one’s disagreeing with that,” Keith starts.

“Good,” Allura says, “because this is of the utmost importance. Shiro cannot be told anything that would encourage him to regain or attempt any ‘heroic’ pursuit while trapped in his current size. If he knows of his responsibilities as a Defender of the Universe, do you honestly think he would stay behind when the four of you go off to do battle? That he would hesitate even for a moment if his friends were in peril and he thought he could help?”

Keith can’t shake the image of Shiro’s ferocious courage when they’d first found him. Even afraid to the point of physical illness, Shiro’d maintained eye contact with what he considered to be an active threat. He’d faced his fear dead-on, perhaps not stoically but certainly resolute. If even those extreme circumstances hadn’t changed Shiro’s self-preservational instincts, there’s no reason to think his stupid self-sacrificial tendencies have vanished either. Shiro’s still the same person, just small and helpless. Imagining him charging into the heat of battle to save one of them while three feet tall and defenseless -

From the horror-stricken looks on Pidge and Hunk’s faces, they’ve reached the same conclusion.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Keith agrees.

“No Galra,” Pidge adds immediately. “Nothing about my family.”

Keith can’t argue with that either. “Nothing about his missing year.”

“He’s gonna wonder about his arm though,” Hunk points out.

“If Shiro asks about his arm you must delay,” Allura says. “Deflect that question to safer territory. Tell him - tell him he’s been missing that arm as long as we’ve known him.”

“You mean outright lie?” Hunk gasps.

Allura blinks. “It’s not a lie. I’ve never known Shiro with two of your human arms.”

“I have,” Keith says flatly.

“Then you cannot answer,” Allura says, her cloud of hair catching the light as she shakes her head. “Can you think of a way to explain Shiro’s missing limb without mentioning the suffering and captivity he endured at the hands of the Galra? Any of you.”

Hunk flinches. Keith hides his own shudder, but barely. Allura has a point.

“I am not asking you to lie,” Allura says, gently softening the blow. “I am not asking you to tell him a Boarachnian bit off his arm or anything absurd. I am asking you only to deflect. Change the subject. You’ll think of something. You can use the same tactic if he asks you about the Lions.”

Keith definitely understands keeping the Galra a secret. Shiro’s arm is a bit of a stretch. This, however -

“He already knows about them,” Hunk says, before Keith can. “He and Black kind of had a moment.”

Allura frowns. “I will speak with the Black Lion. Shiro does not need to know he is her Paladin. He cannot be asked to shoulder that responsibility. As a matter of a fact, the longer we can keep it a secret that any of you are Paladins, the better.”

“Wishful thinking,” Keith says bluntly.

“You already called him ‘little Paladin’,” Pidge points out. “Twice.”

Caught, Allura flushes to the tips of her ears. “A t-term of endearment. So long as none of you explain what ‘Paladin’ actually means we should be quite safe.”

“The Galra aren’t going to give us that kind of break, though,” Hunk adds. “It’s not like they’re going to just let up all of a sudden. Especially not if they know we’re one down.”

“We’re not down,” Pidge argues.

Keith shakes his head. “Shiro’s defenseless. We’re down.”

Allura taps a command into Coran’s console. “That is why we will temporarily withdraw.”

She enters the sequence and the bridge fills with projected stars, soft blue and numerous in the dark of space. Allura scrolls through them, long fingers graceful in the air. “I will redirect the Castle to a safer location. This will minimize our chances of encountering conflict while we research how to reverse Shiro’s condition. I know of a few systems that can buy us time. The universe waited ten thousand years for Voltron; it can wait a few ticks longer.”

“Probably gonna be more than that,” Pidge mutters.

Allura ignores her. “If it does come to a fight with the Galra the four of you will need to do battle on your own. Shiro will remain behind on this ship with myself and Coran. We will address his questions afterwards. Is that agreeable?”

Keith exchanges a look with his teammates. Hunk and Pidge nod. “We can handle that.”

“Excellent.” Allura taps on a projected planet clear of other markings; the little orb illuminates in warm gold. She dismisses the starchart, notes saved. “Under no circumstances is Shiro to leave this ship or to set foot in the Black Lion. It’s far too dangerous.”

“See, I agree with the leaving part,” Hunk says, hands moving to emphasize his point. “But you didn’t see him down there with Black. “

“Is Black even gonna agree to that?” Pidge blurts over him. “She was really upset - “

“She’s the only thing Shiro remembered,” Hunk agrees, nodding vehemently. “I’m not sure keeping them apart - “

Allura shakes her head. “I already said I would speak with her. She will understand. As soon as we find a reversal, Shiro will be back to piloting the Black Lion and leading the way for Voltron. This is merely a stopgap. We do not have to like it. We only need to endure.”

“The time’s not going to pass idly,” Coran says. “I’ll feed the Nafralian data through the castle translators, see if I can’t spit out a decent enough copy that we can begin an analysis. If the research has been around for ten thousand years it’s quite possible someone’s already created that counter-procedure.”

“I’ve got Shiro’s arm down in my lab,” Pidge volunteers. “I was actually thinking I could reverse engineer a miniature prosthetic for him, something he can use while we figure out how to get him back to normal. I’ll need Shiro’s measurements, but I’m pretty sure it can be done.”

There’s nothing else for it. At least it’s a plan, and there’s no sense in wasting further time. “Guess I’ll go find Lance,” Keith says.

“You are going to go change,” Allura orders, her raised eyebrow in full force. Keith doesn’t flinch, but it’s close. “Your suit is filthy. Hunk will fill Lance in.”

“Hunk has one more question,” Hunk says, “And then I’ll stop, I promise. It’s not that I don’t agree with all this, I do. Kind of. It’s just - if we’re not telling Shiro about the Lions, and we’re not mentioning we’re kind of in charge of saving the Universe - are we not telling him he used to be big? Big like us, I mean.”

“No,” Coran says at once.

“Absolutely not,” Allura overlaps immediately. She draws herself up, ramrod straight and unbending. “Shiro is exhausted, overwhelmed, and very young. He’s been through enough. Should we put him through more?”

“No,” Hunk protests, steamrolled, “But - “

“Alteans believe the mind of a child is sacred,” Coran interjects at Allura’s right. “There is no reason to place undue burdens on the mind of a child. Is this different for Earthlings?”

“No, but - “

“We were all young once,” Allura says, regarding them with utmost sincerity. “Would it be such a bad thing to let Shiro have that again? A few days of happiness and simple, unburdened peace? He’s been through so much.”

And that, that right there -

Laid out like that, all of Keith’s arguments fall to harmless ribbons.

Keeping Shiro in the dark about his true identity stings, a betrayal that’s bitterly hard for Keith to swallow. But Shiro’s defenselessness still lingers strong in the forefront of Keith’s mind, the tiny form and tinier voice. How could Keith shatter that further, distort a safety they’ve managed to create for Shiro in a time of such uncertainty?

No. Keith won’t do that. Furthermore, if this mishap’s allowed Shiro to actually forget his trauma even for a _second_ -

A chance at happiness. At peace, however brief.

“I need your word,” Allura says, softly. “Pidge?”

“Yeah,” Pidge says, folding her arms over her chest. “I won’t tell.”

“Hunk?”

Hunk fidgets, scratching at the bridge of his nose. “I get it, I really do. It’s just - it’s so many _pieces._ Small or not, Shiro’s gonna figure something out. We shouldn’t keep him in the dark.”

“And if he does I will answer,” Allura promises, patient. “But I do wonder if you’re giving him a little too much credit. What Shiro doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Your word, please, Hunk.”

Squirming with the weight of the decision, Hunk capitulates with a great sigh. “Okay. I promise.”

Keith doesn’t wait for Allura to ask. The situation’s unfortunate, but any choice involving _Shiro’s happiness_ isn’t a choice at all. It doesn’t matter if the happiness is brief or illusory: the final, indisputable fact is that the possibility to maintain it exists.

“Yeah,” Keith says, out loud. “We’re not telling Shiro anything.”

Keith’s not going to take that away from his friend.

 

It’s not that Hunk disagrees, exactly. Of course Shiro’s been through a lot. Of course they should protect him. A couple little white lies never hurt anyone. Kind of. It’s just that this situation is rapidly crossing the line from a _little lie_ into a _whole big cluster of a mess._

The group disperses soon after Keith agrees. Allura remains on the bridge to open a wormhole; Coran vanishes to begin a translation; Pidge beelines for her lab; Keith heads off to take care of his armor. Hunk takes the opportunity to change out of his own suit before heading in search of Lance and Shiro.

They’re nowhere to be found.

Hunk checks every one of Lance’s favorite star-viewing locations - the third-floor hallway, the secondary rec lounge, the smallest of the castle’s six observatories - and comes up empty-handed. They’re not in Lance’s room. They’re not in Shiro’s. They’re not in the infirmary, the kitchen, or what passes for an Altean library on this ship. They’re not even down in preliminary storage where the Paladins usually find spare clothes, which Hunk checks on a whim. He pauses with his hand on the light controls, frowning at the dusty and empty room. If they’re not here…

The castle’s too big to keep searching indefinitely. He could run a signature scan on Lance’s suit - assuming Lance is still _wearing_ his suit - but Hunk has to run that from his main console and that’s on the bridge. Going back to the bridge would mean explaining himself to Allura, which Hunk really isn’t keen on doing (‘we lost Shiro twice in one day’ doesn’t exactly have a nice ring to it). No. Hunk has to manage on his own.

Surely Lance wouldn’t have taken Shiro to the training deck? Lance avoids that place like the plague unless scheduled or summoned, and it’s not like Shiro remembers its existence right now anyway. For lack of better options, Hunk’s about to head that way when there’s a tiny chitter from the floor near his feet. He looks down.

The two blue mice wave up at him, chattering quickly.

“Hey, little fellows,” Hunk says. The smaller blue mouse squeaks deliberately. “Don’t suppose you know where Lance and Shiro might be, huh?”

In response the taller blue mouse scampers a few steps along the hall, the opposite direction of the training deck. It stops and beckons pointedly with its tail towards the access stairs.

_Down._

Hunk grins. “Al _right._ Lead on.”

The mice direct Hunk further and further in, heading several flights down the access stairs deep into the belly of the castle. The further down they go the more Hunk’s gut starts to churn with unease. He’s walked this path before, but it was definitely on the opposite side of the castle. He’d only done it because the elevators’ gravity had ‘magically’ gone out, which he and Pidge were really sorry for, okay, since the Galra had attacked and they’d all needed to get to their -

Hunk’s feet skid to a stop on the fifth staircase. The mice squeak urgently at him from the handrails.

This is the back route to the Blue Lion.

“Are you _kidding me?_ ” Hunk groans, and takes the rest of the stairs at a run.

The stairs let out at one final hallway, entirely too long for the current crisis. To Hunk’s horror Shiro’s delighted voice carries through the opening at the hall’s other end. “Really?”

“Yep,” Lance responds. Hunk takes the hall at a dead sprint. “Keith’ll tell you he’s the better pilot but he just thinks he has to say that, it’s the whole Rivalry Thing. Blue and and I are the best team on the whole ship. Isn’t that right, girl?”

The massive creak of metal joints and shifting gears echoes all the way down the hall.

“She’s just saying hi,” Lance says, proud. “Wanna go in?”

“Can we?” Shiro gasps.

Hunk can just imagine Lance’s beaming, shit-eating grin. “If you ask her very nicely.”

“Blue Lion, please can we?” Shiro asks, so polite and excited. Hunk bursts into the hangar just as the Blue Lion whirs open her great jaw and Lance, carrying Shiro, steps onto the access ramp leading in. The Blue Lion’s practically lying on the floor in her eagerness to allow them inside.

“LANCE!”

“Oh hey, Hunk!” Lance pauses on the base of the ramp, turning to greet him. He’s pleasantly surprised by the interruption, which is _not a suitable response_ to Hunk’s entirely-justified level of panic, but then why would Lance be anything else? _He doesn’t know._ Hunk hurries across the vast floor, already nearly out of breath. “You’re just in time. I was telling Shiro here all about our amazing jobs. What do you think, Shiro?”

“Defenders of the Universe!” Shiro cheers. “That sounds awesome!”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Yep, there it is: Lance’s shit-eating, beaming grin. Hunk’s going to die. “We’re going for a tour, Hunk, d’you wanna come?”

“No,” Hunk blurts, catching his breath, “Lance - “

Lance shrugs. “Suit yourself. You ready, Shiro?”

“Yes!” Shiro exclaims.

“No!” Hunk yells, “Lance, you can’t.”

Lance blinks. Shiro blinks. The mood deflates. “Why not?”

“I asked really nicely,” Shiro says, his fingers curling tighter into Lance’s armor.

Shiro’s genuine excitement is fading but honestly, Hunk can’t spare the time for more than a little guilt. He’s got to do something, he’s got to say _something_ before Lance digs them even deeper into this hole of Oh Shit. The worst part is Lance doesn’t even know he’s digging them in further, and how is Hunk supposed to tell him when Shiro’s staring like Hunk’s single-handedly ruining his birthday?

“Because - you can’t go in the Lion dressed like that.”

Shiro flinches, immediately self-conscious in the rag of an alien tunic he’s still wearing. Hunk swallows and powers through. There’s nothing else for it. “It’s chilly in Blue, Shiro. We don’t want you to catch cold.”

Ten points for a smooth recovery. Shiro’s frown shifts to something slightly more thoughtful.

“It is not,” Lance protests, offended.

…except now Hunk has to calm down the other child in this scenario. “You wouldn’t notice, Lance.”

“Keith’s was warm,” Shiro points out, unknowingly stirring the pot.

Lance sputters. “Keith’s was - Hunk, did you hear that? I can’t just let this slide. C’mon, Shiro, we gotta do a comparison here.”

Allura’s best-laid plans are going up in smoke, crumbling into dust and destruction. There’s nothing Hunk can do other than terrible damage control. Lance is like a train without brakes when he sets his mind to accomplishing something. He’s missed every hint Hunk’s tried to drop and there’s no way Hunk can be any less subtle about it since Shiro is _right there._

Unless.

_Unless._

Lance starts up the ramp again. Hunk sneezes.

As far as sneezes go it’s definitely not the most convincing, but it’s not the worst either. It’s part of Hunk and Lance’s Top Secret Bro Code, developed even before the Garrison and refined through multiple lectures, professors, and Pidge. (Pidge picked up on the code alarmingly fast, deciphering their secret messages and _adding to them_ with an impressive rapidity. Come to think of it, Pidge might be more fluent in the Code than even Hunk and Lance, except for the part where they’d invented it.)

The series of simple signals started as a way to pass messages in class or simulations where nonverbal communication was essential. Code-gestures range from the subtle ear-pull _(meet me after class)_ to the nose scratch _(the teacher’s watching)_ to the never-fail-left-eyebrow-raise _(you are so full of shit, Lance)._

Lance’s favorite is the double-blink, chin-lift, eyebrow-brush, half-smirk sequence (which means either _Hunk are you paying attention to this check out what I’m about to do,_ or _wanna watch me make an idiot of myself again?_ depending on if Hunk or Pidge is translating). Hunk usually answers with the head-tilt, stylus-tap, heavy-sigh _(I’m not taking notes for you Lance, save it for later)._ Pidge prefers the single-nose-sniff, hair-tug, cheek-scratch, eye-roll _(You’re both idiots I can’t believe you but yeah, I’m in)._

The sneeze is a deliberate call for attention, used only in case of emergency. Pre-Pidge Bro Code, Rule Three: the sneeze is not to be ignored.

It works.

Lance glances back over his shoulder, brows narrowed in hesitant suspicion. Hunk scratches at the side of his nose and deliberately flares his nostrils.

_The teacher’s watching. You’re gonna get us in trouble._

Lance stares. For a second Hunk’s afraid maybe he wasn’t clear enough. They’ve definitely used this code at least twice since finding the Lions in the first place, but the occasions were a little scattered (direct private comm-lines in their helmets go a long way). Maybe Lance has forgotten. Maybe -

Lance blinks, twice, and tilts his head to the left with a deliberate, brief quirk of his eyebrow.

_What risk? It’s clear?_

Hunk’s knees wobble with relief. The message is a bit stilted, but he’ll take it. With his arms full of Shiro, Lance can’t spare a hand to make the two-fingered temple tap for _Explain_ or the thumbed chin-rub meaning _I’ll wait, tell me what’s up,_ but the double-blink turns the _risk_ into a question (as opposed to the confident _all clear_ both raised eyebrows would have implied) and Hunk’ll go with that.

“Bless you,” Shiro says, in response to Hunk’s sneeze.

“Thanks, Shiro,” Hunk says aloud. He rubs at the bridge of his nose with his index finger, tugging briefly at his bangs. _Nope. I’ll tell you later._

Lance clears his throat, repeating the double blink. _Now?_ “Sure you don’t want to come, Hunk?”

 _Too dangerous,_ Hunk signs, a three-fingered brushback of his bangs. “You probably actually don’t have time. Lance, Allura wants to see you.”

“Allura?” Lance’s eyes narrow. That isn’t code, just confusion.

“Right now?” Shiro asks, his own eyes wide with encroaching disappointment.

“Yep, right now,” Hunk agrees, fiddling with his headband in apology. It’s all the warning he can give. “I can hang out with Shiro for a while, if that’s cool with you, Shiro.”

Lance shifts Shiro’s weight, but he still can’t free a hand long enough to make the sign for _what the hell, Hunk?_ He settles for a sigh, a brief huff of an exhale through his nostrils. _You owe me._

Hunk just nods. _Trust me,_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t have to. That’s Rule Number One: the Code must never be used for lies.

Lance nods too. Message received, if not understood.

“Could we still go in the Blue Lion?” Shiro asks tentatively.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Hunk says, because he honestly is. The whole thing’s a nightmare. “She’s not my Lion.”

Shiro doesn’t miss a beat, fast on the uptake. “Which one’s yours? Is she here too? Let’s go visit her!”

Which…one?

“Blue first, them’s the rules,” Lance says, to the rescue while Hunk flounders. He bounces Shiro on his hip, cocking an eyebrow at Hunk. _Catch that?_

Hunk’ll take the help, but without any added signal he’s not sure if Lance means _did you see that, too?_ or _play along, keep going._ The code’s imperfect without the use of their hands, something they’ve never had to test until this moment. Huh.

Lance shakes his head, a tiny movement. Well, in for a penny, in for a dime. The cat’s already out of the bag. ...the giant cats. At least three of them. How much worse can Hunk make this?

“Yeah,” Hunk says, in response. “Yellow’s a little banged up right now, not in the mood for visitors. Blue’d be better, but Lance has to go.”

He spares a tiny thought of apology to Yellow for the lie, which she curls over with a smooth purr deep in the back of his thoughts. Hunk has yet to pull a surprise on her that truly lays offense, not that he really wants to.

Shiro’s face falls, inch by inch. “No Lions at all?”

Blue whines from up above, a protest of shifting metal gears.

“Not yet,” Lance corrects and to Hunk’s great relief he steps down off the ramp. “Duty first, little man. That’s part of being a Defender of the Universe. Later, okay? I’ll take you in Blue as soon as I can. We’ll even go for a spin.”

“Do you promise?” Shiro asks, turning trusting innocent eyes up at Lance.

 _No no no no no,_ Hunk signs, rubbing furiously at the bridge of his nose. He even adds a cough. _Lance, desist!_

“I promise,” Lance says grandly. Hunk barely holds in his groan. “You gonna be okay with Hunk for a while? He’s good people.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Maybe you can even go get a snack.”

Hunk resists the urge to just throw his hands up in defeat. That’s it. He’s done. There’s literally nothing else he can do other than play along, keep up his end of the deal, and hope Allura doesn’t chew Lance out too thoroughly. Hunk’s done his best.

...dangit, Lance.

“Sure, we can do that,” Hunk says easily with a smile. He takes Shiro from Lance. Shiro unconsciously curls into him, shivering a little in the thinness of the garment. Garment’s a generous term, one Hunk’s also absolutely done with. He can’t warn Lance, but he can help Shiro. “You can even help me make dinner if you want to. But first we’re gonna see if we can find you some warmer clothes.”

Shiro blinks, face lighting up with hope. “So I can go in the Lions?”

“Let’s cross that bridge in a bit,” Hunk says, and herds them all to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me so happy! If you liked this chapter please consider leaving one. I'm also on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/) if you want to drop me a line over there! I don't bite. Come yell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hunk does damage control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Happy December and the end of NaNoWriMo~
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and likes on the last chapter. I'm still so happy people are enjoying this as much as I am. Your support and interest means the world to me! 
> 
> This chapter contains the scene that the brilliant [mumblefox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblefox/pseuds/mumblefox) saved me from. I can't thank her enough for her speedy, succinct diagnosis of the story problem and how efficiently her fix worked. She is a miracle worker. In addition, thank you thank you to [ashinan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan) for your editing, beta'ing, and encouragement that yes it really is time for another smol!Shiro update. Thanks for the hand-holding through the feels.
> 
> So much has happened in a month. If you missed it, I've posted a slew of new Voltron fics to celebrate [Shiro Week!](http://archiveofourown.org/series/589438) They were so much fun to write and I'm pretty proud of them, so please go take a look if you finish this chapter and need a little more to read.
> 
> Eighteen chapters is a relatively accurate guesstimate, especially considering when I started I thought we'd cap out at twelve. (Oops?) We might be a little more; we might be a little less. Stay tuned.
> 
> Into everyone's fluff a little angst must come....also someone double-dog dared me. Kind of. You know who you are.

Shiro chatters all the way from the Blue Lion’s hanger down to storage. He barely pauses to wave a cheerful goodbye to Lance on the main floor before continuing to fire questions for Hunk to field. The barrage has to do almost entirely with the Lions: what do the Lions do? Do they sleep, do they ever get hungry, what do they eat? Do they ever need to be refueled, is that the right word? Does Hunk know -

It’s completely at odds with his silence from the planet just this morning. In a way it’s a relief. Shiro can be a man of few words, often content to listen rather than speak, but the frightened silence didn’t suit him. Hunk’s more than glad to see that pass.

On the other hand, it’s difficult to balance Shiro’s eager inquiries with what Hunk promised Allura to keep _secret_.

Everything Hunk’s not supposed to say bounces in his head as he formulates answers to Shiro’s innocent enough questions. Galra: nope. Arm: nope. Being big: big nope. The Lions are pretty much out the window, thanks to Lance’s well-intentioned enthusiasm. Hunk can’t say that he minds exactly. He meant what he said in the meeting: Shiro doesn’t deserve to be kept in total silence, stuck in the dark for fear of enlightenment. The Lions honestly seem harmless enough and Shiro seems to be doing more than well enough with the careful bits of information Hunk’s feeding him, not to mention whatever else Lance said. Maybe Allura’s wrong after all.

“What else did Lance tell you, Shiro?” Hunk asks, digging in one of the storage bins. The mice chitter from across the room where they’re searching through a cupboard themselves. The pickings of child-sized clothing are so slim as to be nearly nonexistent, but there’s a pair of pants they can roll up. The mice also locate a shapeless something that might once have been a sweater, dark and thick in its knit once Hunk pulls it out for them. Footwear they’re striking out on.

“About the Lions?” Shiro repeats, perched on the counter. The low counter runs along the wall, perfectly suited for placing storage bins atop to rummage through, or for mischievous children to sit and wait. Shiro peers over and down into the contents of Hunk’s open bin.

“Or anything,” Hunk says, closing the container and moving on. Shiro scoots down on the counter to follow. “Anything besides the Lions?”

Shiro tilts his head thoughtfully as Hunk opens another box. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” Hunk says, aiming for nonchalant. Shoes are probably too much to hope for, but there’s got to be a pair of socks somewhere. Hunk’s pretty sure Shiro’s one of those people who’s always cold - Hunk’s never seen him (adult him) in anything less than full sleeves. The thin tunic Shiro’s wearing has those, but it’s nothing like the thermal undersuits for the Paladins’ armor. Hunk frowns into the bin. “Like what we do around here, a day-to-day sort of thing, or, uh, anything like that. Nothing?”

Shiro blinks. “No?”

Hunk takes the direct route. “Really? Nothing about Defenders -"

“Defenders of the Universe!” Shiro echoes gleefully, kicking his heels against the counter. “Ooooh. Yeah. Is that real? Lance said you were one of them too, is that why you fly the -"

Shiro pauses, scrunching up his face in thought.

“The Yellow Lion?” Hunk prompts even though he probably shouldn’t.

“Yeah!”

There’s only two Lions left that Shiro hasn’t figured out yet, then. Hunk keeps his mouth shut about Pidge, but it’s not an easy decision. Yellow purrs in the back of his mind; Hunk listens absently, taking comfort as he tries to think. He’s not really sure what the bonds between the other Paladins and their Lions are like. Keith’s definitely talked with Red in battle; Blue and Lance have always been tight; Pidge is always running down to the hanger to spend time with Green when not in her lab or on duty. Shiro’s been the quietest about his relationship with Black. Hunk’s not particularly concerned though: not with the way Black had been frantic at Shiro’s kidnapping, the way Shiro himself had reached right out to her for comfort. For Shiro to not even know that the Black Lion is his…

That's what Hunk promised not to tell, sure, but it’s what Hunk’s having the most trouble with.

“That’s right,” Hunk says aloud. “Yellow’s mine, even if she’s busy right now, which is why we’re here and not meeting her.”

“Is she nice?” Shiro asks.

“She’s the best,” Hunk says immediately. Yellow hums back at him in praise and love. Hunk can’t stand the thought of being mentally separated from her for even a minute. He can’t imagine how the Black Lion must be feeling.

And yet - Hunk promised. Allura’d made him. But if Lance already, _technically_ , let the cat out of the bag…

Hunk grins even as his questing fingers find a pair of not-too-enormous socks in the very back of the bin. He yanks them out. “Ah-ha! Hop down, bud, let’s try these. Lance say anything else about Defenders of the Universe?”

Shiro slides off the counter with Hunk’s help, letting Hunk steady him on his feet and then carefully into the pants. “Nope. What does it mean?”

“It’s a big deal,” Hunk admits. The pants are way too long but seem okay at the waist; it’s hard to tell with Shiro still wearing the alien tunic. “It’s not really something you need to worry about but it does have to do with the Lions.”

Shiro lets Hunk roll up the long pantlegs, a triple- and quadruple-fold while Shiro balances carefully on one bare foot and then the other. How is he not freezing? Hunk can feel the chill of the castle floor against his knees where he’s kneeling to help Shiro get dressed. “Are you fighting bad guys?”

Uhhhh.

 _Danger_. _Galra bad. Galra bad!_

“We’re taking a bit of a break right now.” Yes. Perfect. Good save, Hunk. He helps Shiro with the socks too. “So there’s really definitely nothing to worry about.”

“Do you have time to take a break?” Shiro asks, turning worried eyes up at him. “Are there a lot of bad guys?”

 _Bad!_ _Abort, abort!_

“We’re making time,” Hunk says gently. “It - being Defenders of the Universe does keep us busy, but again, that’s not something you need to worry about. Gonna help me take that shirt off? You must be cold.”

“And you still had time to save me,” Shiro wonders aloud, clearly awed.

Hunk practically drops the sweater, fingers suddenly numb. “What? Of course we _had time_. Where did you - why would you even think we wouldn’t?”

“I,” Shiro starts, wide-eyed, startled by Hunk’s volume. “I - Lance taught me what ‘universe’ means? That’s a lot of people -”

“No,” Hunk says, cutting him right off. “I don’t want you to even worry about that for a second. Not for a _second_. We weren’t going to leave you there an extra tick longer than we had to. That’s part of - that’s part of what being a Defender is about, yeah, but you’re not just any old person in the universe. Lance told you we’re friends, right? We weren’t just going to leave you there. We’re always going to come find you, ‘busy’ or not. You’re more important.”

Shiro considers this, twisting the hem of the alien tunic between his five little fingers. It’s a big topic, maybe too big to wrap an altered mind around. He’s frowning. “The other people don’t need saving too?”

Trust Shiro to pull _that_ , even when small. Hunk barely swallows his smile.

“None more important than you,” he says firmly. “They do, sure, but you come first. Got it?”

“Okay,” Shiro says, but he still looks thoughtful.

Hunk’s changed his mind. The things that make Shiro _Shiro_ are still in there: a sharp intelligence, even at this age; a willingness to help others; a confidence growing by leaps and bounds with every hour away from the aliens and every question answered. There’s no reason why Shiro shouldn’t know about the Black Lion after all when he’s handling all the rest so well. The team will understand. Hunk’s sure of it.  “C’mon, you. Let’s take that shirt off, please, and then I’m going to tell you a secret.”

“A secret?” Shiro asks, a hopeful smile winging its way into his eyes.

“A secret,” Hunk confirms, winking, “And then you can help me make dinner. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“It is not,” Shiro protests, but he giggles when Hunk pokes the offending stomach lightly.

“Totally growling,” Hunk teases, cocking an ear as if listening. Allura will understand too. She can’t say no to Shiro like this either. “Just the shirt and then we’ll be all set. Count of three. One - two - three.”

Hunk helps Shiro off with the stained, ragged thin excuse for a tunic, and that’s when everything falls apart.

 _Woah_.

“What?” Shiro asks, blinking. “What is it?”

The scar tissue around the stump of Shiro’s arm is red and angry, stretching lichtenberg figures up towards his shoulder. That’s not the surprise. The surprise is that Shiro’s tiny torso is _covered_ in scars. They’re scattered all over, slashes and scrapes obviously transferred down from his adult form just like the one etched plainly across his nose. The biggest ones stand out keenly as if screaming for attention. There’s a set of stripes under his left ribcage equally spaced and old, like something caught and dug into him. A perfectly ragged curve hooks over his belly button. There’s a thick jagged scar right over his sternum, straight up and down, not to mention the burn splatter on his hip where the pants don’t quite cover, a vibrant starburst on his -

Shiro follows Hunk’s gaze. His gasp hitches in his throat; his mouth works silently but no sound comes out. Hunk’s brain is working too fast to catch up to the obvious. Shiro’s time in the Galra prison was anything but pleasant. Hunk knows this. He _knows_ this. But to actually see the extent of it - and even worse, to see it on a _child -_

It’s horrifying.

What’s more horrifying is that Shiro’d never _said_. That hits Hunk hard, hard and cold like a punch to the gut. Just how much has Shiro been hiding from them?

No. There’s no time for this. Shiro’s shivering, goosebumps prickling on his exposed flesh, breath heaving under his ribs and the scars. He’s staring at a scar on his forearm, a trio of puncture marks not unlike teeth. Hunk pushes the horrifying thoughts away and bundles Shiro into the enormous sweater, pulling the soft fabric over his head. As predicted, it’s way oversized. The sleeves flop down past Shiro’s little hand, covering the bite, the hem reaching nearly to his knees.

Shiro won’t look at him.

“Hey,” Hunk says, so, so gently, “Hey. It’s okay.”

Shiro doesn’t answer.

“Kiddo?”

Hunk leans forward to catch Shiro’s gaze. Shiro doesn’t respond. He’s still trembling, even cocooned in the warm fabric. His eyes are wide and terrified, staring at his arm like he’s never seen it before -

Oh.

Of course he hasn’t.

Oh _shit._

Hunk knows what a panic attack looks like. He’s talked Lance through a couple back in the Garrison, private moments Hunk’s fully planning to take to his grave. Lance has done the same for him once or twice. This, though, Hunk never expected, and it’s so surprising and doubly alarming that it’s _Shiro_ , that for a crucial moment Hunk’s completely caught off guard. Shiro’s absolutely dwarfed by the sweater and some memory too large for him, fear radiating from every fiber of his being like fabric spilling past tiny fingertips. He’s frozen. Shaking. Stuck somewhere Hunk can’t see or touch.

“Shiro!”

Hunk reaches without thought, but doesn’t get far. His hands just brush Shiro’s shoulders when Shiro gasps, sucking in air like he’s drowning. Hunk reels back quickly, hovering, but Shiro’s not looking at him. Shiro’s eyes widen further - if that’s even possible - and under his lashes the irises flare briefly, glowing soft and gold.

_What…?_

The glow fades so fast Hunk’s almost sure he imagined it. Shiro blinks and shudders. All the tension drains from him and he sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut, stumbling. Hunk catches him, large hands bracing small shoulders. The gaze Shiro turns up at him isn’t panicked or distant but crystal clear and distraught.

“Shiro,” Hunk breathes. Something wet splashes onto Hunk’s hand, warm and sudden. Another fat tear follows down Shiro’s cheek, dripping miserably off his trembling chin.

“What’s wrong with me?” Shiro whispers, utterly overwhelmed, and bursts into tears.

Oh, _no._

Hunk can’t do this.

He gathers Shiro in for a hug immediately, bundling him up in warmth and security and as much reassurance as Hunk can physically manage without squashing him. Shiro is so impossibly small in his arms, the fingers of his only hand clutching desperately at the fabric of Hunk’s shirt as he cries.

“I know,” Hunk murmurs, rocking them so slightly, so easily and safe. Shiro’s shoulders shake with the force of his sobs, uncontrollable. Hunk holds him tighter. “I know, I know. You’ve had a terrible day, Shiro, just a terrible time of it. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I didn’t want you to see,” Shiro chokes into his shirt, and where did _that_ come from? “I didn’t want -”

“I get it,” Hunk says and he does, he does. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. All of that. But it’s _okay_. It’s gonna be okay. Do you know why it’s okay? Aw, Shiro - shhh -”

Shiro cries for a while yet, the emotions and stress of the day all catching up at once. It’s a terrible lot for a little person to take in. Shushing him, soothing him, Hunk rocks him gently through the storm, and while he’s waiting for the storm to calm Hunk changes his mind.

_There is no reason to place undue burdens on the mind of a child. Is this different for Earthlings?_

_No, Coran_ , Hunk thinks, here watching the fallout of a burden too large. _It’s not._

The Alteans were right. Hunk’s not going to add to Shiro’s burdens with anything else. The Black Lion will understand.

Shiro has more than enough to deal with.

“Okay,” Hunk says, once Shiro’s sobs fade to sniffles. He waits until Shiro looks up at him, cheeks flushed from tears and embarrassment. “Here’s why it’s okay. Do you remember the secret I was going to tell you?”

“Yes,” Shiro hiccups. Hunk helps him blow his nose on the sweater’s sleeve.

“Well, it’s part of why it’s going to be okay,” Hunk says, “and it goes like this. Those scars that you have? They’re not signs of anything wrong with you. They’re souvenirs of adventures.”

It’s not the Black Lion, but it’s a white lie Hunk’s more than happy to twist. First off, he’s not going to let Shiro go around thinking something’s _wrong_ with him - no way. Not on Hunk’s watch. Second: Shiro’s remembered _something_ in the last few minutes. That much is clear. Hunk can’t help a little curiosity. It’s a test, of sorts. If Shiro’s recovered more of his personality, he’ll either evade as he usually does the few times Hunk’s seen him in pain ( _it’s nothing)_ or apologize _(I’m sorry you had to see that_ ). Hunk braces himself for either.

Shiro frowns, the tiniest light breaking into red-rimmed eyes. “Adventures?”

…but he certainly wouldn’t _believe_ Hunk. The amnesia still holds. Hunk isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

“Adventures,” Hunk says. In a way it’s even the truth. “Each one of those scars you carry is a mark that proves you’re a survivor. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’ve been through more adventures than a lot of us have, which is why you have those scars in the first place.”

“Huh,” Shiro says, slowly.

Hunk presses on, well aware Shiro’s clinging to his every word. “You’ve had so many adventures. That’s how you’ve got so many scars. All this - all these adventures happened to you that you don’t remember right now and that’s okay. But that’s why. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you _at. all_.”

“Really?” Shiro sniffs.

“Really,” Hunk says firmly. “So stop believing something is. I don’t want to hear that again, okay? Nothing is. _You_ are perfectly fine.”

Shiro tilts his head to the side, thoughtful.

“What kind of adventures?” Shiro wonders and Hunk practically sags in relief. Crisis averted. Hunk can play damage control with the best of them. He means every word: Shiro _is_ okay. Scared and small, yes, but absolutely okay. Hunk will say it as many times as he needs to. Scars aren’t a problem. Small isn’t a problem. Strangely glowing eyes -

\- okay, maybe slight cause for concern. Not for now, though. Hunk tucks that away behind an easy smile. For now Shiro’s question is fully something Hunk can answer. With a little creativity, and a bit of careful editing ( _Lions_ and _Bad Guys_ and _Galaxy-Saving Responsibilities_ aside), “adventures” are damn easy.

“Well,” Hunk says, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. “Sit down. I didn’t know you back then, but I can tell you about the time we went to the planet of Teori.”

“What’s that?” Shiro asks, mirroring Hunk’s pose. The mice creep in between them, settling at Shiro’s feet. The littlest blue mouse runs right up his arm and perches on his shoulder. Shiro giggles.

“It was basically a giant beach,” Hunk grins and starts to weave the tale.

 

“Space goo for dinner?” Pidge asks, her nose wrinkling beneath her glasses. “Hunk, really?”

“I lost track of time okay,” Hunk says defensively.

Dinner is an awkward mess of sullen and enthusiastic. Lance takes a huge gulp of water, pointedly not looking in Allura’s direction. At least he’s no longer glaring like he was when Hunk first brought Shiro in.

“But that’s _atrocious,”_ Allura says. Hunk braces for impact, but she’s only staring at Shiro’s outfit in dismay. “Is that really all you could find?”

Phew. Hunk sets the pot of goo down on the table.  “Anyone who can sew is welcome to help make it smaller.”

“Lance can,” Pidge says, pulling the bowl closer.

Lance spits his drink all over the table, mood forgotten. “Say what?!”

Pidge’s glasses glint above her smirk. “Don’t you know how to thread a needle?”

“It’s fine, I can do it,” Keith volunteers over Lance’s mutinous squawks. “I patched up my own clothes in the desert. I can at least do his pants.”

“If Keith’s doing it, so can I!”

“You are not practicing on the only pair of pants even close to fitting him,” Hunk says, poking Lance with his spoon.

“I’ll show you where else to search after dinner,” Coran says, dishing up his own portion and one for Allura. “There’s still the deep storage we can check. It’s possible we’ll find some items there.”

Allura takes her portion from Coran, nodding politely at their littlest guest. “How was your afternoon, Shiro?”

Shiro’s sitting on an enormous pile made of materials not unlike earth phone books, huge useless manuals Pidge dragged up from her lab. His feet dangle off them.

“Good,” Shiro says proudly. “Hunk told me I’ve had _adventures_.”

Allura’s spork splatters into her bowl. “He _what?”_

“Not fair,” Lance erupts, flailing his spoon in Hunk’s direction. “How come Hunk gets to tell him stuff but I get chewed out?”

“Shhh,” Keith says harshly, but Shiro’s distracted by watching Pidge balance her eating utensil on her nose and luckily misses the moment.

Hunk swallows, deliberately not looking at Lance. He’s not sure he could stand to see the hurt. “It just came out, okay.”

“Hunk,” Allura says, a mix of frustration and disappointment.

“Nothing happened!” Hunk protests.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!”

“Guys,” Lance tries.

“He literally just said you told him about adventures,” Keith counters, keeping his voice low.

No. They don’t get to gang up on him for this. They didn’t see what Hunk saw. Hunk stands his ground. “I had to tell him something!”

“Does no one respect giving me their word?” Allura asks the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean to!” Hunk blurts. “If you’d been there too you’d’ve done the same.”

Allura sits straighter, startled. “I most certainly would not!”

Lance sneezes loudly.

Hunk’s argument dies on his lips. Pidge looks up. Lance tugs on his earlobe, scratching his nose pointedly, and jerks his head ever-so-minutely in Shiro’s direction. Shiro’s staring at them, confusion deep in his wide eyes.

_We’ll talk later._

“Bless you,” Shiro says to Lance.

“Thanks, little man,” Lance says. He taps two fingers on the table even as he leans over to peer at Shiro’s dinner. _You owe me._ “You done eating?”

“Yes,” Shiro says, slowly. His bowl’s more than half-full.

“Three more bites,” Hunk cajoles, pushing Shiro’s bowl closer to him. With his free hand Hunk codes back, a double-tap and a thumb-brush of his chin, same hand. _Not my fault._

Lance’s fingers fly in the same pattern, scratching almost viciously at the space between eye and ear. _Not mine either! No one warned me!_ “If you eat four, Shiro, I’ll teach you something cool.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. That doesn’t need translation. “I’m done. I’ll be in the lab if you need me. Catch you all tomorrow.”

“I’ll look through deep storage if you show me where it is,” Keith says, to Coran.

Coran nods, finishing his own meal. “Of course. I’ll go with you if you’d like. Deep storage can be somewhat of a maze even for Alteans.”

“I will help,” Allura volunteers. Hunk’s grateful she’s dropped the subject, though from the way she’s studying Lance and Shiro, Hunk’s sure they haven’t heard the last of this. “You have other work to be doing, Coran.”

“What can I do?” Shiro asks, swallowing the extra-credit fourth bite.

“Finish dinner,” Lance declares, dipping his spoon into Shiro’s bowl. The mice gather round, squeaking eagerly. “Watch this, Shiro. And then we’re gonna get in our pajamas and watch a movie.”

“Shiro doesn’t have pajamas,” Hunk interjects. Lance tilts the spoon so the mice can reach it. Shiro observes closely, brow furrowed in deep concentration.

“Then we’ll get to the movie faster,” Lance says without missing a beat and hands the spoon over so Shiro can try too.

 

Pidge’s Movie Lab is a thing of glory.

Once Lance discovered the stash of movies on Pidge’s laptop, it was really only a matter of time. The challenge wasn’t finding time to watch them so much as finding time when Pidge wasn’t _using_ her laptop and could spare the device for an hour and a half. The squabble-ending solution quickly grew into the Movie Lab: an entertainment system rigged in the daytime secondary rec lounge. Pidge’s database was transferred to a reliable piece of Altean tech and rigged to a bright projector system Coran dug up from the depths of the castle. Hunk’s pretty proud of the speaker work. The couches angle perfectly towards the viewscreen, cast on one of the walls with the windows opaque’d, snug and ready for the perfect pre-sleep comfort expedition.

Assuming that Lance and Hunk can agree on what movie.

“What’s wrong with Studio Ghibli?” Lance declares, five minutes in. The two of them don’t often fight, but What Movie to Watch is without fail at least a three-minute discussion, and their usual referees are busy (Pidge), staying out of it (thanks Keith), or unaware that they typically play referee and patiently watching the banter like it’s a tennis match (thanks a lot, Shiro). “They’re ancient, but Pidge totally has some. I saw them last time.”

“Nothing’s wrong with Studio Ghibli,” Hunk counters ferociously, “but Disney didn’t die out and they fit _every_ situation. Name one situation Disney can’t fix. One.”

“Every sequel,” Lance deadpans. “Shiro, help us out. Anything you want to see? What’s your favorite movie?”

Shiro frowns thoughtfully from his position in the Prime Viewing Spot on the Middle Couch, which Lance ceded without even being prompted. Hunk’s proud of him. “Are there any with lions?”

“Oooohhh,” Hunk says. “Lance?”

“If Pidge doesn’t have The Lion King on here I’m disowning her,” Lance crows and dives for the Altean remote.

“You don’t think that’s a little too…?“ Hunk gestures at Shiro, raising an eyebrow for good measure.

“Too what?” Lance asks, missing the point and the code entirely. He flops on the couch next to Shiro, remote in hand. “It’s perfect. Have you seen it before, Shiro?”

“Lions,” Shiro says happily, curling content into Lance’s side. Lance drapes an arm around him. Hunk’s outnumbered and lets it go.

“So many lions,” Lance confirms and hits play.

There’s something immutably profound about the movie, even uncountable light years away from home. Shiro’s enraptured by the story, though it’s clear from the first song that he’s not going to make it all the way through. His head’s nodding by the time Scar catches the mouse in his paws, eyelids drooping though Shiro stubbornly fights to stay awake. Neither Lance nor Hunk call him on it, though Lance’s hand does shift slightly to rub slow, careful circles into Shiro’s back, easy and rhythmic as onscreen Mufasa explains _everything the light touches_ , as Scar drops terrible hints and Simba calls for his friends to come play.

Shiro’s asleep before I Just Can’t Wait To Be King, which all things considered is probably for the best.

“I’m sorry,” Hunk says quietly, as soon as he’s sure Shiro’s out.

Lance sighs, his free hand tapping _it’s alright_ into the sofa back. “Me too. Our code needs some work, huh.”

“Could put Pidge on it.”

“Not until she’s done with Shiro’s arm,” Lance says. “Allura didn’t chew me out too badly, I guess, but boy was she mad when I yelled back. She’s really serious about this.”

“Did she pull the ‘Altean children’ -”

“- are sacred, _yes_ ,” Lance hisses. Shiro shifts in his sleep; Lance lowers his voice. “Yeah. I mean, I get it, but come on. Shiro’s got to know _something_. Look how fascinated he is with the Lions. How can we keep him from them?”

“Is that what Allura said?”

Lance’s scowl speaks volumes, even as he pitches his voice in a near-perfect imitation of Allura. “ ‘You’re not to take him back to see Blue, Lahnce, and that’s final.’ Who does she think she is? You can’t keep a guy from his Lion. And Blue loved him.”

“He’s gonna be so mad,” Hunk whispers, glancing down at Shiro.

“I know.” Lance rubs his hand over his face - not code, just tired. “Shit.”

“Don’t swear in front of Shiro.”

Lance blinks. “He’s not exactly gonna call me on it.”

“He’s not even five,” Hunk counters.

“He’s asleep,” Lance argues, but takes the point.

They’re distracted by the movie for a while. Hunk sits in solemn silence, lost in his own thoughts. Shiro sleeps, secure between them.

“Would you want to know?” Lance asks after Mufasa’s saved Simba from the graveyard, before the worst is yet to come. “If you’d been shrunk. I dropped hints all afternoon but he didn’t pick up on anything.”

“Same,” Hunk says. “His amnesia’s pretty deep. I told him all about Teori, almost the whole week. Nothing.”

“Even the surfboards? Did you tell him that?”

“I did.” Hunk grins. “I told him you wiped out. He didn’t correct me.”

“That was Keith!” Lance protests. “C’mon! You told him I won, right? The race was rigged. Keith’s never even _been_ on a board before, did you tell Shiro -”

“Tell him yourself,” Hunk says, fondly.

“You bet I will,” Lance vows. “Hey, how’d you get through that story without the Lions?”

“Stopped on day four.”

Lance whistles appreciatively. “Smart.”

“Sure loves the Lions,” Hunk says, smiling down at Shiro.

“It’s Shiro,” Lance agrees, quiet. “If all he’s got to go on is the vague memory of the Black Lion and Allura won’t even let him see…”

“There's something else, too,” Hunk starts hesitantly.

Lance frowns, sitting up. “What do you mean?”

Rather than answer, Hunk gently takes Shiro’s wrist in his hand, pushing up the fabric enough to reveal the bite mark. Lance stares at the visible scar at first with confusion, then with quickly darkening murderous rage.

 _“What_ ,” Lance breathes. “I - are you serious?”

“I know,” Hunk says, pushing Shiro’s sleeve up just a little further. The edge of a second scar’s just visible beyond the rolled hem.

“There’s more?!”

“More,” Hunk says, grimly. “Shh, you’ll wake him.”

“Unreal,” Lance whispers, breathless with anger. Hunk lets Shiro’s sleeve drop, settling back into place. “The Galra did all this?”

Shiro whimpers, a choked sound as small as he is. His eyes shift beneath closed lids, brows furrowed in distress. Lance shushes him immediately. Pulling Shiro into his lap to cuddle close, Lance soothes him with a gentle hum, rubbing slow circles into Shiro’s back with the even rise and fall of his chest.

“Okay,” Lance says at last when Shiro’s quiet once more. “Okay. This doesn’t change anything, other than we have a lot more ass to kick than a few minutes ago.”

“Lance,” Hunk says warningly, but Shiro doesn’t stir.

Lance sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch. “D’you think Keith knows?”

“You’d have to ask him, I guess.” Hunk shrugs.

For once Lance doesn’t argue. “Yeah. I might. In the morning. Not like there’s much we can do about it now.”

On screen Simba runs, and runs, and runs. Shiro twitches in his sleep, nose crinkling under the scar as he dreams.

“No,” Hunk says quietly, because it’s also easier than thinking about glowing gold eyes that shouldn’t be. He isn’t entirely sure how to articulate those. He and Lance don’t keep secrets, though. It’s part of what founded the Code in the first place. Soon, Timon will splash an exhausted Simba awake, ready for escapism and no more worries, but first they have to get through the thorns. “There's just one more thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments really brighten my day! If you liked this chapter please consider leaving one. I'm also on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) if you'd like to come yell there. Tumblr is where I post other snippets (including of smol!shiro before they're [posted](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/153808525893/ooh-youre-writing-a-deaged-shiro-fic-d-for-the) [here](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/153808020738/tears-for-the-fanfic-wip-meme-3c), sometimes, as well as pieces from the [daemon!AU](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/153808199393/wip-meme-listen) I'm definitely [not](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8614594) working on and [project paladins](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/153988610873/here-is-a-preview-of-my-piece-for-the), a zine for charity I'm really excited to be a part of). Come say hello!
> 
> Last but not least - there's [ART FOR THIS FIC?!!](http://smokelesseyes.tumblr.com/post/153500737990/baby-shiro-i-inspired-to-doodle-after-i-read) The talented [smokelesseyes](http://smokelesseyes.tumblr.com) drew the cutest little smol Shiro. Lookit his little scar and his little ears! Thank you SO MUCH, I'm so flattered. <3 Never enough smol!Shiro in this fandom!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that?! An update one week later?! Unnnbelievable! ;) This FAST update is brought to you by the speed and dedication of my best friend [ashinan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8740531/chapters/20038576); her fantastic beta'ing saved this chapter in more ways than I can count. Please go send her some love! <3
> 
> As always thank you for the comments and all from last chapter! I'm so intrigued to hear your theories and ideas on what might be coming next. Here's some more for you to ponder. Drop me a comment if you have a second and let me know what you think!
> 
> (sorry shiro)

Hunk wakes up as someone gently drapes a blanket over him.

“Shh,” says a quiet feminine voice, crisp in consonants and long in vowels. “Go back to sleep. I’m only checking in.”

“Allura,” Hunk murmurs, blinking alert. Allura smiles gently down at him. The room is dark, illuminated only by the dim lights along the panels of the floor and the countless stars out the windows, the glass automatically un-opaqued after the movie ended. Hunk’s shifted over to the neighboring couch; Lance takes up so much room when he sleeps that giving him his own space is generally the safer option. True to form, Lance is completely sprawled out on the original couch, flat on his back, limbs akimbo. Shiro’s curled up on top of him. Both of them are fast asleep. Allura’s tucked them in, too.

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” she continues, soft over Lance’s snoring. “I only wished to look in, and to - to see.”

“They’re doing fine, Princess,” Hunk says kindly, or at least he means to. The words are nearly unintelligible over a huge yawn. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the couches in the lounge are awfully comfortable.

Allura lingers, studying the other two Paladins. Shiro doesn’t wake, the fingers of his little hand twitching as he dreams. “I should apologize perhaps. I’m afraid I gave Lance quite the talking-to.”

“He understands,” Hunk reassures her. It’s hard to keep his eyes open.

“Perhaps,” Allura says, but in the dimness of the lounge she sounds less certain than before. “Return to your sleep, Hunk. I shall see you at breakfast.”

“Mmmk,” Hunk manages and burrows back under.

 

Hunk wakes up the second time to a shadow bending down over the back of the neighboring couch.

“We got him,” Lance says sleepily. Hunk’s woken up mid-conversation. “Go to bed, Keith.”

Keith (Lance was right, the mullet is distinctive) hesitates, gloved fingers brushing against the upholstery. “I was just -”

“Unless you wanna stay,” Lance yawns, “I can make Hunk make room.”

Hunk slides his eyes shut, letting out a massive and quite-convincing snore.

“That’s okay,” Keith says quickly. “I just - it can wait. You sure he’s okay?”

“‘m sure,” Lance promises. “Nothing’s gonna happen in the middle of the night. You need your sleep too, yeah?”

Hunk’s asleep again before he can hear Keith’s response.

 

Hunk wakes up the third time because Shiro is screaming.

“Shiro!”

Hunk jerks awake the same time as Lance, sitting bolt upright. Shiro’s crying, flailing desperately and babbling almost incoherently.

“ - no, no - please -”

“Shiro!” Lance says urgently, “It’s alright, you’re having a bad dream. Shiro. Hey. You need to wake up.”

“No,” Shiro wails, still caught in the throes of the nightmare. “No, don’t, I can’t - I can’t -”

He fights as Lance tries to hold him closer, struggling to get up and away. It might’ve worked if Shiro had two arms. As it is Shiro overbalances, wildly correcting for something that isn’t there, tipping out of Lance’s grip and towards the floor in a frantic windmill of half-awake limbs.

Hunk lurches off the couch and catches Shiro all in one motion. Shiro fights him too, a bundle of panic and fear. “Hey, hey, it’s alright! Shiro, you’re alright!”

“Don’t hurt me,” Shiro sobs, inconsolable. “Please -”

Hunk’s on his knees, Shiro caught up and shaking in his arms. Lance scoots all the way to the edge of the couch and gently presses his hand to the back of Shiro’s neck. “Shiro, wake up. It’s just a dream. You need to wake up.”

The touch does it. Shiro flinches awake, stiffening violently with a heart-wrenching cry. He’s incredibly tense, shaking where he’s tucked safe between them.

“Okay,” Lance says, soft and low. “You’re okay, _chico._ It was just a dream.”

They take a moment, Lance making gentle shushing noises, Hunk’s heart pounding as his adrenaline fades. It takes time but Shiro finally sags into him, little hand tightly gripping the fabric of Hunk’s yellow pajamas. He’s still sobbing, clearly terrified by whatever it is that haunted his dreams.

“You’re alright,” Lance repeats, again and again until Shiro’s sobs finally trail off to whimpers. Shiro hiccups miserably. Hunk holds him closer. Lance slips off the couch to his knees, fingers rubbing soothing circles into the back of Shiro’s neck.

“D’you want to talk about it, Shiro?” Hunk asks, so gently.

Shiro shakes his head.

“That’s fine,” Lance says quietly. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Shiro. It’s okay.”

“I w-want my mom,” Shiro hiccups into Hunk’s shoulder.

Hunk exchanges a devastated look with Lance.

“Oh, _chico,”_ Lance breathes. His lower lip wobbles, too, but he holds himself together, drawing the pieces in visibly. This is not about them right now. “She’s – she’s not here, exactly, but – Hunk and I are. Yeah? We’re not the same, but we’ve got you. We’re not gonna let anything get to you. I promise.”

“How about we go get something to drink, huh?” Hunk offers. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s the absolute least he can do. Maybe distraction will help. “I could whip something up in no time. Something warm, like – warm space-milk. That sound good?”

Lance sputters. “ ‘Warm space-milk.’ Please never say that again.”

“Everyone loves space-milk,” Hunk protests. The good-natured banter fails. Shiro doesn’t even look up. He’s trembling something awful between the two of them. His renewed tears are quickly soaking through Hunk’s pajamas, but Hunk doesn’t even care. He can’t. There’s nothing else they can do but comfort, and hold, and wait this out.

It’s so much. It’s too much, for someone so small. First the scars; now this. Are nightmares something else Shiro hasn’t told them about (an explanation for the scars? Other fears, worries?), or simply the reaction to a traumatic, terrifying day?

“Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Lance prompts after a while, when Shiro’s shivering less, when there are sniffles instead of sobs.

“Too bright,” Shiro mumbles. His voice is muffled. “Couldn’t move. They were…they…”

He cuts off with a miserable hiccup, trembling all over again. Hunk sways, just a little, rocking them gently back and forth.

“It’s okay,” Lance says when Shiro doesn’t add anything else. He’s rubbing Shiro’s shoulders now, rhythmic and light. “It’s okay, Shiro. You’re alright.”

“It was purple,” Shiro whimpers, the words dragged out of him. “Everywhere…”

“I know,” Lance murmurs, simple and calm. He meets Hunk’s worried gaze over Shiro’s bowed head.

 _The weapon of the Nafralians,_ Allura’d called it. The purple beam, splitting the sky.

No wonder Shiro’s terrified.

“You’re okay,” Lance repeats, “Just breathe. In...and out. In…”

It takes a long time, but somehow they get there. Between Lance’s gentle instruction and Hunk’s careful rocking, Shiro’s breathing eventually, slowly evens out.  Only when his grip on Hunk finally loosens, his body slumping heavily and head dropping limp with returning sleep, does Hunk dare to shift their way cautiously back to the couch.

Lance lets out a huge sigh of relief and confusion.

“I know, man,” Hunk says wearily. Lance picks up the blankets from the floor. “You want him back?”

“Think he’s fine where he is,” Lance says softly. Shiro’s fingers are still curled in Hunk’s shirt, though slack with sleep. Lance drapes one of the blankets over them and tucks them in, wrapping himself up in the other like a burrito. He settles next to Hunk. “ ‘Nothing’s going to happen in the middle of the night,’ what was I thinking? Keith’s gonna kill me.”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “He’s not going to kill you. Shiro’s fine.”

“Is he?” Lance asks, and he isn’t angry so much as bitterly sad. He flops a hand idly, gesturing at the space between them. “The scars. This. He’s so _small,_ Hunk.”

“I think this nightmare’s just because of the day he had,” Hunk hazards, tentatively.

“Yeah.” Lance drops his head against the back of the couch, boneless and spent. Hunk can relate. “I guess. Probably. It’s just - man, Hunk, what are we supposed to do?”

The stars of untold hours pass by the windows, mystery upon mystery. Shiro sleeps on, mouth slightly agape. Tear tracks dry on his little cheeks.

“We get some sleep,” Hunk suggests, at last. Lance leans against him, pressing their shoulders together. If this is all they can do, then at least they can do this. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

 

The morning, unfortunately, is not much better.

Coran and Pidge aren’t present, leaving the remaining Paladins to muddle through with Allura. Shiro seems to have forgotten the nightmare of last night, picking through his bowl of space goo almost without complaint. The little frown of focus on his face as he maneuvers the spork in his non-dominant hand shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, but Hunk’s certainly not going to call attention to it. This entire situation needs a benefit of some sort. If only he had a camera.

“Space goo for breakfast, Hunk?” Lance asks, fiddling with his own portion.

“We’re out of a lot of things,” Hunk says apologetically. “Which, now that you mention, I was going to bring up. If we’re stopping to pick up supplies anyway, can we throw in some foodstuffs?”

“Stopping?” Allura asks, delicate eyebrows furrowing together. “We are not stopping. We’ve only just reached the Illarina system.”

“Where we’re hiding, right?” Hunk asks. “If they’re peaceful to us, we should be able to do some kind of business with them. I made a list; we don’t need anything extravagant. There’s some child-size things we should get for Shiro, too. It’d be good to pick up some of it even if we can’t find most.”

“Like clothes,” Keith adds.

Shiro’s still in the oversized sweater from yesterday. Lance reaches over to roll the left sleeve back up. “I thought you were going to fix his pants, Keith.”

“Not while he’s wearing them,” Keith says flatly. “If we’re stopping I won’t need to.”

Allura’s frown deepens. She lays her spork neatly beside her bowl. “We are not going to call attention to ourselves. Surely whatever Shiro needs can be found on board?”

“Where?” Keith asks, incredulously. “Coran and I dug through all of deep storage last night. There’s nothing there that’ll work.”

“All of deep storage?” Allura asks. Shiro sticks his spork in his breakfast goo, delighted as it stands on its own.

“All of it,” Keith snaps. The bags under his eyes speak volumes.

Lance pokes him. “Did you sleep at all, Mullet-man? What time did you stop by last night, three-ish? Four-ish?”

“Ish,” Keith confirms. “Don’t call me that.”

“We have _nothing?”_ Allura repeats, incredulous. “The entire ship?”

Hunk ignores them, plucking Shiro’s spork out of the goo and handing it to him. “Kiddo, your food’s going to do you better inside you than sitting in the bowl.”

“Aww,” Shiro pouts, but wraps his tiny fingers around the eating implement again.

Lance snaps his fingers. “Kid-size utensils. Put that on the list.”

“Shoes,” Keith says. “Socks and shoes.”

“Also games and toys,” Lance adds, his whole face lighting up with ideas. Hunk settles back, content to let Lance run with this. “Coloring books in space! I bet we could find -”

“Excuse me,” Allura interrupts. “We are not ‘stopping’. The risk is too great. Besides, Altean children were perfectly capable of creating our own entertainment. I’m certain Shiro can do the same.”

Shiro glances up, entire sporkful of goo plopping back into the bowl. Allura’s stern expression softens immediately. “Someone as resourceful and intelligent as you, little Paladin, can of course find some way to entertain himself.”

Lance frowns, hard. “What entertainment do you suggest? There’s nothing here.”

“Find something,” Allura demands.

“I did,” Lance starts, low and heated. “Yesterday. But _someone_ , not naming names or anything _Allura_ , told me that was ‘inappropriate’ -”

“Can we not fight at breakfast,” Hunk tries.

“Inappropriate?!” It’s not Lance who protests but Keith, staring at the Princess with offended confusion. Hunk’s just as taken aback as Allura. “That’s really what you said?”

Lance throws his hands in the air. _“Thank_ you!”

Allura takes a careful breath, composing herself. “Perhaps not _inappropriate,_ but certainly unwarranted. There must be other forms of entertainment aboard this ship. You know better.”

“I do _now,”_ Lance quips.

“Then leave it,” Allura insists with a pointed tilt of her chin. “You’re only going to give _someone_ ideas.”

“I have ideas already,” Shiro pipes up innocently, blinking at all of them.

“See!” Lance points at Shiro with his spork. “Trust the little guy!”

“I’m certain his idea is better than yours,” Allura mutters under her breath.

“What did you have in mind, Shiro?” Keith asks patiently.

“Well,” Shiro starts, sitting up straight, “I was thinking-”

Lance interrupts, leaning forward in his chair with reckless abandon. “What wisdom do you have today, oh noble Shiro? What great adventures can I, the magnificent and wonderful Lance, lead you on this morning?”

By the time Lance finishes his speech he’s gesturing grandly, his spork a make-believe sword ready to drive them forwards into hours of wonder and glory. Shiro’s giggling, thoroughly entertained. Hunk rolls his eyes, but it’s fond.

“Let him talk,” Keith says, tugging Lance back into his chair. “Go ahead, Shiro.”

Lance’s enthusiasm is contagious. Shiro shifts on his booster seat of manuals, eyes alight with excitement. “I was thinking you can take me in the Blue Lion!”

The mood deflates like a burst balloon, punctured and hissing its way through the air. Lance’s eager playacting drains out of him, joy replaced by a reluctant yet deep guilt that Hunk cringes to see.

“Or not?” Shiro says, backpedaling tentatively. He glances from Lance over to Keith, who shakes his head, and then to Allura, whose face has become a mask of stone. “Or - after lunch? I can wait.”

Lance sets his spork down on the table. He swallows. “Shiro, I - I need to tell you something.”

“Lance,” Allura says sharply.

“Like I could forget what you said,” Lance bites back before she can scold him again.

“Do not put words in my mouth.” Allura sits up straighter, chin set and firm. Hunk doesn’t often get a glimpse of the ruler Allura might have been; it’s inspiring but somewhat of a shame to see it now, her words rock-steady and unyielding. Lance can’t fight against that. “I will tell him, Lance. You’ve done enough.”

She means well, Hunk’s pretty sure, but he’d have to be a fool to miss Lance’s flinch.

Shiro frowns, brows furrowing again. It’d be more effective if he still wasn’t so cute. “Lance didn’t do anything.”

“Of course not,” Allura says, hastily trying to soothe the damage. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s only that - there’s been a misunderstanding, Shiro. Lance cannot take you into the Blue Lion.”

“I can wait until after lunch,” Shiro repeats. His eyes are growing wider, inch by inch.

Allura shakes her head. She’s trying to be gentle, but there’s no way this won’t sting. Hunk can’t look away. “Not after lunch either. Nor will Keith take you back in the Red Lion.”

Shiro hesitates, glancing at Hunk. “What about –”

“The Yellow Lion is also unavailable,” Allura amends immediately. Shiro flinches, staring at Allura with stunned hurt. “From this point on all the Lions are off limits. You’ll need to choose another activity.”

As an adult Shiro is an expert in hiding his emotions; as a child, he is unquestionably not. Shiro recoils as if he’s been struck, his jaw dropping open in rippling dismay. His head whips from Allura straight to Lance, eyes wide with disappointment and shock. “No!”

“I’m sorry, bud,” Lance says. His voice is thick, choked. “I got vetoed.”

Hurt ricochets across Shiro’s face. He sits back in his seat, fingers gripping the spork like a lifeline. _“No!_ You promised!”

“It is not a good idea,” Allura starts. Shiro turns to her with the full force of devastated betrayal. Some of Allura’s rigid composure fades like a broken mask, crumbling. “That is -”

“They were okay yesterday,” Shiro protests. He blinks, hard, clearly struggling to wrap his mind around a set of shifting rules, a rug pulled out from under his feet. “Why not today? Are they sick?”

“The Lions don’t get sick,” Keith says when Allura falters. Shiro’s gaze snaps to him, frantic and hurt. “It’s not safe down in the hangars for you.”

“I’ve already been -”

“When Lance was with you, yes,” Keith continues. Hunk marvels at his patience, the even keel of Keith’s voice as he reasons, even if the reason is total bull. “But it’s not safe right now, okay? You could get hurt.”

“I could wait until it _is_ safe,” Shiro says. His voice wavers, seeking ground none of them will give him. “It doesn’t have to be today. Tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow either,” Lance finally manages. Keith’s reasoning has given him time to find his voice, though his words are still heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry, _chico._ There’s - there’s plenty of other things we can do around here.”

Shiro shakes his head, not listening. “You just _said._ And I don’t want to. I want to see the Lions. I haven’t met Pidge’s or Hunk’s yet. And -”

“There’ll be time,” Hunk says, taking his turn. “They’re just too big for you right now.”

Shiro frowns, steel and iron to match Allura’s. For a moment there’s two leaders in the room, a princess without a planet and a paladin trapped as a ghost of himself. Two equal sets of fierce determination, matching toe to toe. “I’m not afraid. I’ve been to the hangars already. It’s not hard.”

Terrified silence settles around the table. Hunk’s not the only one imagining Shiro making a break for it. If Shiro somehow finds the path down to the hangar all on his own, still only three feet tall - the zipline _alone_ , he’d never be able to reach the handles. He’d trip and fall right down the chute.

“No,” Allura says, firm despite the sudden pallor of her face. “No Lions, Shiro. I need you to promise.”

Shiro’s determined resolve falters piece by piece, still tucked under the age limit of not quite five, not quite big enough, not quite understanding. He’s Shiro, yes, but in this moment he isn’t a leader. He’s too small. “B-but-”

Allura closes her eyes briefly. “I need you to promise.”

“But _why?”_ Shiro cries.

Allura looks. Princess stares at Paladin. For a long moment Allura doesn’t speak. Many reasons spring into Hunk’s mind, fast and overlapping. All of them are rooted in concepts too overwhelming for Shiro, young and vulnerable and upset, to understand. He might be _Shiro,_ sure, but he’s too young for this. They have to protect him.

That’s what it boils down to, right?

“We need you to promise,” Allura says at last and from the tightness in her voice it’s all she can manage, too. “No Lions.”

Shiro hesitates, frantic in dismay. He looks from Lance to Keith to Hunk to Lance again. None of them give him any quarter. How can they? It’s just too complicated. Between the countless scars, the weird glowing-eye thing they still haven’t told Keith about, and last night’s horrific nightmare, Shiro has more than enough to deal with. Hunk stands by his decision from yesterday: he’s not going to add to Shiro’s burdens with anything else. No more surprises; no more overwhelming pieces of information. Not until Shiro’s big again, or until Hunk and the others figure out some way to help with what Shiro’s already struggling with. It’s a shame, but the line has to be drawn.

Next to Hunk Lance nods minutely. The Lions have to go.

Caught, with every vestige of support ripped out from under him, Shiro ducks his head down, hiding his trembling chin from view. He jerks his head in a miserable nod.

“Thank you,” Allura says. She’s aiming for gentle. Shiro won’t look at her. “I’ll hold you to your word, Shiro.”

Despite Shiro’s resolute disappointment the words tumble out of him, tripping off his tongue. “But it’s not _fair!”_

“That is the way it is,” Allura says evenly. Her fingers tremble only minutely as she picks her spork back up again. “I’ll thank you not to speak back to me, please.”

“No,” Shiro blurts, surprising all of them. He shakes his head something fierce, lower lip thrust out in a quivering pout. There’s a determined glimmer in his eyes, hard and sure. “You’re wrong. The Lions would never hurt me. And you’re not my -”

“That’s enough.” Allura’s spork hits the table with a smack as she lays it down, perhaps rougher than she intended. Shiro doesn’t flinch, meeting her glare with hurt eyes of his own. Allura stands, pushing back from the table. “Shiro, come with me.”

Shiro blinks, confused. “W-what?”

“Why?” Keith demands, rising too.

“Discipline,” Allura says firmly, “You cannot talk to your elders like that, Shiro. Three minutes on the training deck with the gladiator ought to be enough. Come.”

“What?!” Hunk squawks.

Lance stands so quickly he knocks the chair over. “No!”

“Are you insane?!” Keith shouts, moving so fast Hunk almost misses it. In a flash Keith’s physically between Allura and Shiro, his very body a shield. “Allura, you can’t do that!”

“A session with the gladiator teaches focus and discipline.” Allura’s face does not change, steady and stern. Shiro peers around Keith in total confusion, devoid of any recognition concerning the gladiator. He’s only alarmed because they are. “It’s standard for all Altean children – ”

“That’s not how we do things!” Lance yelps. The blood’s drained from his face. “He’s just a kid, Allura!”

“Precisely the reason we set the level low,” Allura snaps.

“If there’s a punishment on Earth we’re way milder,” Hunk interrupts, desperate. Keith shifts, every inch of him radiating tension. “Like a – a time-out, or something!”

That gets through. Shiro’s eyes widen impossibly, the pure hurt of a panicked child. “No!”

Allura hesitates. “What is a ‘time-out’?”

“Better than the gladiator,” Lance says, but it’s to Keith.

 _“No!”_ Shiro cries. “That’s not fair!”

Keith visibly reigns himself in, straightening his spine. He jerks his head in a nod.

“Go to your room, Shiro,” Lance says. Shiro stares at him, face awash in horrified betrayal. “Allura’s right. You can’t talk to your elders that way. We’ll come get you when your time-out’s up.”

Shiro pales. “You can’t – ”

“Go,” Lance commands.

Shiro resists for one heartbeat longer, but there’s no support from anyone else around the table. Allura’s pulled back, finally removed. Keith’s staring, just as trapped. Lance bravely stands his ground. Even the mice are silent. For his part, Hunk’s at a complete loss.

Shiro’s eyes fill with hot, angry tears. His face crumples. He flings his spork down on the table, slides off his pile of booster seat manuals, and bolts from the room.

As soon as the door’s shut Allura sits down heavily in her seat, covering her mouth with one shaking hand.

“The gladiator?” Keith demands. _“Really?”_

Hunk raises his hands placatingly. “Leave her alone, she didn’t know.”

Keith whirls on him. “He’s a child! He’s not even five!”

“Don’t yell at Hunk,” Lance retorts. “The situation sucks, yeah, but it’s not Hunk’s fault!”

“I know it’s not Hunk’s fault!”

“This isn’t a question of _fault,”_ Allura interrupts heatedly. “I didn’t consider – ”

“Oh yeah?” Lance retorts, crossing his arms. “Whose bright idea was it to suggest sending a _five year old_ to get beaten up by a monster-droid we can’t even beat as adults!”

“Speak for yourself,” Keith says hotly. “I’ve beaten it.”

Lance gawks. “You?!”

“Shiro has too,” Keith says, firmly. “But I don’t know at what level and not at age _five.”_

“Enough,” Allura orders. She’s steeled herself again, spine ramrod straight. “What’s done is done. How long does this ‘time-out’ last, Hunk?”

“Uh,” says Hunk, caught off guard. He casts a glance at Keith; Keith folds his arms, defensive and on edge. “Twenty minutes?”

Lance picks his chair up from the floor, flopping down with a groan. “Twenty. Yeah. _"_

Keith doesn’t join them, heading for the door instead. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

“Where are you going?” Allura calls after him, in alarm.

“Not after Shiro, unfortunately,” Keith snaps and departs.

His absence doesn’t bring any relief.

“Do you think Shiro’ll still be mad in twenty minutes?” Hunk asks, tentatively.

Lance lays his head down on the table with a thud. The mice hurriedly scoot his bowl of goo out of the way. “No. Maybe. Probably not. Man, this _sucks.”_

Neither Hunk nor Allura verbalize their agreement; they don’t have to. The mood in the room’s soured, distinct and uncomfortable. Hunk picks at his space goo. Allura doesn’t touch hers. The mice eat Lance’s, quiet and subdued.

“About those supplies,” Hunk starts into the awkward silence and this time Allura agrees.

 

“A time-out?” Pidge says, gaping in disbelief. “Seriously?”

True to form Pidge is in the smaller of her two labs, the one not connected to Green’s hangar. Extra lights blaze from the ceiling, glowing from rigged perches for maximum illumination and focus in the small space. Scattered parts are strewn across Pidge’s worktable, wrenches and tools in increasingly small sizes clustered within easy reach.

“Seriously,” Keith says. He checks to make sure he’s not disrupting any of Pidge’s equipment before leaning on the table. “It’s been a rotten morning.”

“Tell me about it,” Pidge groans. She rubs crusted grit from her eyes. The motion knocks her glasses further askew and she straightens them reflexively, the movement habitual.

Shiro’s Galra arm is set carefully on the table in pride-of-place, dead center in a perfect pocket of light. Wires run from the prosthetic out to Pidge’s laptop, the screen projecting a rough diagram of the prosthetic. Keith leans forward.

“Don’t touch,” Pidge warns. A separate window on her laptop whirs away an indiscernible script of red code, lengthy and populating.

“Not going to,” Keith says. The diagram’s nowhere near finished. It’s currently a model only of fingers and palm, the thumb half-complete. “You did all this in one night?”

Pidge’s smile is tired but wicked. “Sleep is for the weak. Let’s go back to Shiro for a second. Time-out? Really?”

“Better than the alternative,” Keith says flatly.

Pidge picks up a tiny probe, tapping gently at the arm. The diagram on her laptop swivels, zooming in on the prosthetic as it maps over a knuckle. “Wow. Shiro’s not going to like that when he’s big again.”

Keith shrugs. “Maybe.” Seeing his friend so upset, even if Shiro’s not exactly himself right now, grates heavily. Keith should be protecting him, not making things more miserable. “I don’t know what he’ll think about what’s happened.”

Pidge doesn’t answer. She moves the instrument to the underside of the joint, a slow circle almost absent-minded. The diagram on her laptop lights up in correspondence, but she doesn’t turn her head to confirm.

Keith frowns. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

The probe jerks in Pidge’s hand. “Nothing.”

Keith’s frown deepens. Pidge is grumpy when she doesn’t sleep, but this is unfounded. “Did you actually not sleep?”

“Of course I slept,” Pidge snaps back, too quickly. “Do you mind? This is pretty delicate.”

“I’m not touching anything,” Keith repeats. Pidge refuses to meet his eyes, stubbornly focused on the probe again. “Pidge. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Pidge says, more forceful than before. “If that’s all?”

The dismissal is pretty clear. So is the slight shaking of the probe in her hand as she stabs it at Shiro’s arm. The computer beeps a warning; Pidge scowls, swearing under her breath. “Quiznak.”

Something’s wrong. Did Keith bump her equipment accidentally after all? He checks, but his leaning-corner of the table is vacant of tools and parts. He hasn’t touched anything. It can’t be that.

Then what?

Keith casts his mind back in a slow rewind, playing through their conversation again. It’s a tactic Shiro taught him: _if you’ve upset someone, the first step is to figure out what you said. Then listen to what they have to say and go from there._

Easier said than done, in Keith’s experience. Keith’s not the best at comfort by any means, but the best option - the person Pidge probably would prefer reassurance from - is still upstairs, with at least ten minutes left of time-out.

Keith’ll have to do.

Carefully Keith replays the conversation, recalling their short exchange word for word. None of it strikes him as alarming. If it wasn’t what he said, then what? What would _he_ be upset about, if somebody mentioned Shiro to him right now?

Countless reasons pop into his head.

_Narrow it down, Keith._

Pidge still isn’t looking at him. She’s studying the diagram now, shoulders tense and angled away from Keith, hunched in on herself. Despite her protests to the contrary Keith has no doubt Pidge didn’t sleep. She’s mulishly focused on this task, as if her determination alone can literally build an entire _alien arm_ out of nothing. This single-minded drive to finish Shiro’s arm, stabbing at it with her tools as if the force of her actions alone can finish it faster – it’s almost excessive. Keith doesn’t get it. Pidge’s progress is still way faster than Keith could build an alien arm, definitely, even given proper motivation like _Shiro needs it_ because aliens took his arm again, because Keith didn’t get there in time, because Shiro was alone with Pidge and -

Oh.

Oh.

“Pidge,” Keith says, slowly. “Shiro doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

Pidge flinches.

Her bangs cover her glasses, head bent forward. Keith can’t catch her gaze. For a moment he thinks he’s miscalculated –

\- but Pidge isn’t poking at the arm anymore, the probe gripped tightly in her shaking hand.

“How can you say that?” she asks. The hurt in her voice is palpable. “He doesn’t even _know_ me!”

She drops the tool completely, grabbing for a screwdriver instead. The computer beeps a warning, diagram flashing as the data’s interrupted. Pidge taps an aggressive series of commands on the keyboard. The beeping stops, muted.

“It’s not your fault,” Keith finally manages.

“Isn’t it?” Pidge asks bitterly. She turns the screwdriver over in her hands but doesn’t apply it to the arm, her movements short and jerky. “I’m the one who left him. When he got caught, I couldn’t do anything. If I’d been faster, or stronger, if they hadn’t – ”

“Stop,” Keith says sharply. It’s no use going down the self-blame path; if anyone knows that it’s him. “It’s not your fault. If we’re assigning blame, I should’ve -”

He cuts himself off.

 _Should’ve gone after the Black Lion instead of Green,_ maybe, in that split second on the planet’s surface. It might not have saved any time at all: just a minute. Maybe a minute would’ve been enough. Maybe not.

No. Keith pushes the thoughts away, hard. This isn’t about him right now. Pidge doesn’t need his guilt on top of her own. That’s not what friends are for.

Shiro’s taught him that, too.

“I should’ve gone down with you,” Keith says instead, smooth, fast, and honest. “We should’ve been right there from the start. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.”

“That’s stupid,” Pidge counters immediately. Her bangs swing to the side as she finally, _finally_ jerks her chin up to glare at him. “Then they would’ve ambushed all of us. They were _ready.”_

“Then there’s not much else you could’ve done, is there?” Keith fires back. Pidge opens her mouth, frustrated, but Keith barrels ahead. “Shiro doesn’t blame you. I don’t either. We can If This or If That all morning if we want to, but it’s not going to change what happened. It’s nobody’s fault except the aliens who did this to him.”

Mistakes happen. Dangers are automatically implied as Paladins of Voltron; Shiro knew it. They all know it. Keith sincerely doubts that Pidge _could’ve_ been faster or stronger, especially not if she was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, injured or surprised. Terrible circumstances can overcome any of them.

“Besides,” Keith finishes. “He does know you. He knew me.”

“You’re his best friend,” Pidge grumbles. The heat’s gone, some of the tension fled from her shoulders. She lays the small screwdriver down with a sigh. “I know we said ‘amnesia’ just to get Allura and Coran off our backs, but I’ve been thinking. Shiro’s is really deep. I’m not surprised he doesn’t remember me, I guess. It’s just…”

No. Keith’s not going to let her wallow like this. “He _does_. He might not know he does, but he _does_. I’ve been thinking, too. There’s things that break through his other amnesia, right? About his time with the Galra.”

“Shiro usually remembers things when he sees them again,” Pidge says. Her words are slow with dawning clarity. “The robeast on Arus.”

She could be onto something. Keith frowns. “The Galra ships. Every time we’re on one.”

“The Black Lion,” Pidge breathes. “So it’s - strong memories, associated with…crisis?”

Keith pushes sharply back from the table. “We’re not throwing Shiro into ‘crisis’ situations just to see what he remembers!”

“Of course not!” Pidge recoils, visibly horrified. “I’d - _no_. Never. _Never.”_

“Then what?” Keith demands.

Pidge frowns at her laptop screen, but she’s not typing. Keith doubts she even sees the diagram, flickering stable across her screen.

“What if,” she starts, slowly.

“Didn’t we just talk about ‘if’s?”

“Yeah, but think about this,” Pidge says, meeting his gaze again. “What if it works the other way, too? What if it’s not just moments of crisis, but - happy things, too. Shiro remembered the Black Lion. He remembered you.”

The tiniest spark of an idea flits into Keith’s mind. He inhales sharply, unable to help it.

“What?” Pidge asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What is it?”

“If it’s happy things,” Keith starts, slowly, and Pidge straightens from her slump to listen.

 

Eventually, twenty minutes are up. Lance leaps up from where he definitely was not watching the clock and beelines out of the lounge.

“Longest twenty minutes of my life,” Hunk groans, following Lance down the hall. “It’s like we were the ones in time-out instead. You sure he’s not going to be mad?”

“He’s not going to be mad,” Lance says. Shiro’s definitely going to understand. Twenty minutes is plenty of time to cool down. He’ll see. And it’s not like Lance spent the time idly. He’s got plenty of new ideas for entertainment that don’t involve Lions or Rule-breaking or Excessive Danger, thank you very much. Distraction is the mother of all tempertantrum-soothers.

Lance is so ready for this.

“Should we wait for Keith?” Hunk asks nervously, as they set off down the hall to the living quarters. “He probably wants to be here.”

“He could be anywhere,” Lance says, dismissing the thought. “We’ll stick around in the main lounge with Shiro for a while. Keith’ll be able to find us there.”

The living quarters of the castle are only a quick walk away, thanks to their definitely-not-hurrying pace.

“Shiro?” Lance knocks on the closed door to Shiro’s quarters. “Hey, it’s Lance. Your twenty minutes is up. Wanna come see what fun things the Lanceinator came up with?”

There’s no answer.

“He’s totally mad,” Hunk groans.

“He’s not mad,” Lance says. “He just didn’t hear me. Shiro?”

He knocks again. There’s still no response from inside.

“So mad,” Hunk whispers, dismayed.

“He can’t be mad, it’s been twenty minutes,” Lance counters, and knocks one more time. “Shiro? You’ve got five seconds to say something or I’m coming in, okay?”

Five seconds pass. Lance counts to five ticks, just to be generous, and then palms open the door. Hunk peers over his shoulder.

The room beyond is pitch black.

“Shiro?”

Lance fumbles for the control panel, flipping on the lights. He’s never been in Shiro’s room before, come to think of it. It looks - normal. If stark can be considered normal. The bed’s neatly made, pillow unwrinkled and corners tucked with military precision. There’s no personal ornaments or even articles of clothing scattered about, a far cry from Lance’s room. Nothing on the floor, nothing hanging out of drawers. It’s clean.

What’s most notable, beyond the near-clinical sparsity of the space, is that it’s empty.

“Oh no,” Hunk says. “Shiro, you didn’t!”

From the looks of it, Shiro did.

“We’re fine, he’s just hiding,” Lance says reassuringly as he veers over towards the closet. “Aren’t you, Shiro?”

He throws the doors wide open. “Ah- _ha!”_

The closet’s empty too.

Lance’s heart sinks. “Oh, no.”

“I told you, I _told you,”_ Hunk hisses. Lance pulls open the storage chest in case Shiro’s hiding in there too. He’s not. Hunk rambles on. “He’s so mad! I’d be pissed too if I was small and upset and things still didn’t make sense and then people yelled at me. We shouldn’t have done this. We shouldn’t’ve-”

“You’re not helping,” Lance interrupts sharply. He lets the lid of the container fall shut, reaching for the second one.

“He probably never even came here,” Hunk continues, reaching for the drawers in the wall to check there too. “The poor guy’s got enough to handle without everyone ganging up on him. I mean we have to stand our ground somewhere, right, I get that - ”

Nothing in this chest but clothes. Lance frowns.

“ - and I get that the Lions are dangerous and I get why Shiro’s upset, y’know, it’s not rocket science, kid’s going through a rough time, but ever since last night in the lounge -”

Hunk stutters to a halt so abruptly it’s physical, jerking back as his thoughts slam into something else.

“What?” Lance asks, closing the lid on his container. Hunk’s braced against the wall, wide-eyed. “What is it?”

“I changed my mind,” Hunk breathes. “I know why Shiro’s not here and it actually has nothing to do with being mad or disobedient or whatever. I mean, it might, but I think - I think we have a problem.”

“What do you mean we have a problem?” Lance says, slowly. “A problem? A big problem?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hunk agrees, weakly. “Does Shiro even know where his room _is?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you read? Please consider leaving me a comment! I'm also on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) ~~where I'm definitely not[writing AUs](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/154207777803/oooh-how-about-a-pirate-au)~~ ; feel free to come yell! I probably deserve it this time. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone steps in to be the Actual Adult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else wondering where Shiro went? ;)
> 
> How about that new season?! I'd like to note that Season Two really isn't changing much for our story. The plot of the new season is so tightly woven (and _great_ ) that there's not much room to slip in little episodic pieces of fluff; therefore, The Size Of Our Actions remains set in Season One. I have a few oblique references to Season Two, and a thing or two to tweak, but by and large we're unaffected. Just to be clear. <3 I've also removed the predicted 18-chapter count I guesstimated last time. I have a wee bit more thinking to do first.
> 
> Thank you so much to my dear friend [Andy,](http://ashinan.tumblr.com) for pushing and prodding and beta'ing and encouraging until this chapter was ready to go. I couldn't do this without you. 
> 
> Less talk, more finding Shiro ~~for a change.~~ ;) Enjoy!

Keith emerges from visiting Pidge straight into unbridled chaos: a frantic Lance, Hunk, and Allura arguing in the entrance hall of the Castle, the wide stairs sloping up behind them. Even the mice are chittering, the little blue one loudest where it runs up Keith’s ankle to grab his attention. Every light is on, bright and full force. It doesn’t take a genius to notice the distinct lack of one tiny Keith’s-best-friend.

Keith gapes at Lance, worry and alarm churning in his gut. This is _ridiculous._ “How the hell did you lose him again?”

“I didn’t _lose him_ ,” Lance protests, for the second time. The other three mice hang from his shoulders, balancing on his collar while his hands flail in distress.

Who lost Shiro doesn’t matter: Shiro’s gone, _again_. Keith can’t listen to this. “Twenty minutes is too long. We shouldn’t have let him go off without being sure he knew where he was going!”

“But - you agreed!” Lance sputters, incredulous and defensive. “I mean, fine, yes, we should have gone with him, but - I didn’t realize he didn’t know - ”

“How could he?” Hunk groans. He scrubs his hands down his face, distraught. “Why didn’t we _think?_ Aw man, Shiro could be anywhere!”

“Well, it’s done now, isn’t it?” Allura snaps, concern badly hidden in her harsh tone. “Arguing about it is not going to help.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lance says, glaring. “It’s your fault Shiro’s lost, _princess.”_

Allura’s eyes narrow. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

“No, it’s Lance’s fault,” Keith corrects, stepping towards him. “You’re the one who suggested a time-out in the first place!”

“The alternative was one-on-one time with the gladiator!” Lance counters immediately, stabbing an accusing finger in Keith’s direction. The mice squeak, hanging on. “I didn’t hear any better ideas that wouldn’t _kill Shiro!”_

“ENOUGH!” Hunk bellows, physically pushing into the space between Lance and Keith. “This is not helping us find Shiro! Allura, you know this ship better than we do. There’s only so many places a kid could hide, right?”

Allura pales.

Keith’s eyes narrow too. “Allura?”

“You must understand,” Allura says, carefully. Nervously. “The castle was built for a very different time. The number of bedrooms alone - ”

“Okay, so it’s a bigger search than we anticipated,” Hunk cuts in, before Keith or Lance can start. “How big are we talking? Just the bedrooms; let’s start there. A handful?” Allura shakes her head. “A dozen?”

“How many?” Keith demands.

“One hundred and eighty five,” Allura whispers.

Lance’s jaw drops. Keith’s heart sinks.

“Okay, we can panic,” Hunk summarizes faintly.

“We’re not going to panic,” Lance says. He swallows, visibly pulling himself together. “We can do this. If we each check - forty-six of the rooms? I’ll do forty-seven - ”

“That’ll take too long,” Keith interrupts. Shiro could be anywhere; they don’t have _time._ What if Shiro’s stuck somewhere? What if he fell down an access tube? What if he was scared, alone and crying out for them? “We have to be smarter than this.”

“Luckily, he’s five,” Lance says, though the joking attempt is weak. “We can be smarter than a five-year-old.”

“I know I can,” Keith says.

_“Hey!”_

“Stop it,” Hunk interrupts fiercely. He squares his shoulders.  “Let’s think. If you were small and upset and lost in a giant ship with no idea of what was happening to you or why everyone you know is mad, where would you go?”

Keith frowns. “We’re not _mad - ”_

“Shiro thinks we are,” Hunk says firmly. “All we’re doing is yelling. If I was Shiro and I saw us right now, I wouldn’t come out of hiding either.”

Lance flushes guiltily. Allura won’t meet any of their eyes. Shame burns hot in Keith’s chest. Hunk’s right.

This isn’t helping Shiro, either.

“Thank you,” Hunk says, after a moment of guilty silence. His face is awash not in triumph, but grim determination. “Let’s try this again. If you were small and upset and lost on a giant ship, all by yourself: _where would you go?”_

Allura gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth in dismay. “The _Lions.”_

Lance’s eyes unfocus for half a tick, steady one moment and distant the next. It’s still eerie no matter how many times Keith’s seen it happen. “Blue says he’s not down there.”

Keith swallows his mild jealousy. Just because Blue talks to Lance outside of battle more than Red does to Keith doesn’t mean their relationship’s any less strong. Just…different. “I’ll go ask Red.”

Hunk frowns, but if he’s communicating with his own Lion Keith can’t tell. “I don’t think Shiro would go down to the Lions? He did promise. Shiro’s never broken his word before.”

“He’s also never been rapidly de-aged with no frame of reference,” Lance points out.

“At this point finding him is the only priority I am concerned about,” Allura says. Worry brightens the markings beneath her eyes. “Go get your helmets and seek out your Lions, just to be absolutely certain. It’s possible Shiro went to visit one of them and became lost along the way. Once you’ve checked with your Lions start with the bedrooms in the corresponding quadrants. We’ll coordinate locations as we go.”

“Check corners too,” Lance suggests. The mice race down his shoulders and up the bannister; Keith’s mouse joins them, squeaking quickly into their own discussion. The four mice scatter in separate directions at the top of the stairwell. “Kids can hide in dark alcoves and boy does this castle have a ton of ‘em.”

“I want a status report in ten doboshes,” Allura orders, and the group disbands for the hunt.

 

The auto-lights are on, winking steadily up at him along the floor line.

Coran frowns.

He’d popped up from the lab while the ship’s computer was busy splicing through a complicated piece of possible translation. He had hoped to get some quiet work in on the main console, perhaps a spot of cross-research, but the ship apparently has other plans. Now Coran stands in the doorway of the bridge, pondering the dim level of emergency lights. Those should not be on. No one’s here. Is the castle malfunctioning? Perhaps his time would be better spent troubleshooting the Castle instead. It is over ten thousand years old…

The tiniest of sounds drifts across the bridge.

Coran freezes, still in the doorway. His ears twitch, listening hard.

The sound comes again - the tiniest noise from the other side of Allura’s raised dais. A sniffle, small and miserably meek.

Ah. Ah, no. Nothing’s wrong with the _Castle._

Someone’s crying.

There’s only one person aboard this ship who that could be.

Shiro’s huddled in a tight ball, sitting on the floor in front of the bridge’s foremost structure. It’s one of his favorite thinking-spots, at least when he’s grown, but it certainly isn’t where Coran had expected to find him in this moment. Where is Allura? Where are the rest of the Paladins? How did Shiro come to be up here, in a place he’s been exactly once since losing his memories, all on his own with no one else even remotely in sight? Perhaps total disaster struck while Coran had been buried in his work. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Well, luckily for all, Coran is a Total Disaster Specialist.

He leaves the lights as they are and steps forward along the lower floor, footsteps a deliberate mix of subtle and loud. Shiro doesn’t notice. The right sleeve of the hideous sweater’s come undone; he’s trying to roll it back up, but the left sleeve’s met a similar fate and his little fingers keep catching in the fabric.

“What’s all this?” Coran asks gently when he’s close enough. “The universe can’t be ending so soon.”

Shiro startles, glancing up at him. He loses his fragile grip; both sleeves of the sweater flop uselessly to the floor. In the dim glow of the emergency lights the tear-tracks are plainly visible on his little cheeks, some still shining and wet. Shiro ducks his head away quickly, but it’s enough. Coran waits for a few ticks. Shiro doesn’t look up at him again.

But he doesn’t tell Coran to go away, either.

Score one for the Disaster Specialist. Maybe he’ll abbreviate: what would it be in their language? Coran, the DS. The Total-DS? The TDS. Ooooh, Lance might like that one. Coran makes a mental note to run it by him.

He settles down next to Shiro with ease, folding his long limbs underneath in a criss-cross. Shiro sniffles, staring stubbornly out the window.

“Here,” Coran offers, reaching out with a careful hand. Shiro flinches again but Coran is exceedingly gentle, rolling Shiro’s sleeves up for him efficiently and with military precision. Once it’s clear what Coran is doing Shiro relaxes, though he’s still sniffling. His entire little form radiates abject misery and misunderstanding.

He is so _small._

“Nice view, isn’t it?” Coran asks kindly, when he’s finished. The stars stretch out past the window, lightyears beyond and away. A galaxy swirls across the upper corner, lazy coppers and crystalline teals dancing in slow display.

Shiro nods, a single jerk of his chin. That’s progress.

“You’ve actually been to more of them than you think,” Coran says. He gestures. “Way in the distance, the binary stars circling each other? If you look to the right you can see three red pinpoints in a swoooopy line. Do you see them?”

“Yes,” Shiro murmurs, so softly, but he’s following Coran’s finger with his gaze. Score two for the TDS.

“In that trio is the planet of Xufliokek,” Coran explains. “Peaceful colonies, now. Their people are a species with brilliant bird-like similarities. Beautiful plumage, if you can imagine: wings and bright feathers in every possible color. Blues, greens, rich golds. They threw quite the party when we left.”

Shiro’s eyes grow wider and wider with every word Coran speaks. “I’ve been there?”

“You have,” Coran confirms, gently. “Their children made much of you.”

And probably would fawn over him even more so now, considering Shiro’s new descent to exactly their height. Score three for the TDS.

Shiro’s quiet for a moment, absorbing this. Coran settles against the raised dais at their backs.

“Where else have I been?” Shiro asks at last. His words tremble.

Coran chooses his reply carefully, keeping his tone light and unconcerned.

“Recently?” he asks. Shiro nods. “Well, yesterday we were down on the planet of Nafrali. Currently we’re orbiting way out in the ‘middle of nowhere,’ as Lance would say. As for places you’ve been today, I hope you’ve been down to the kitchen for breakfast at least. Perhaps lunch? It is about that time. Or is skipping meals a thing your species does at this size?”

Pidge skips meals all the time, for example. Coran is fairly certain that’s an anomaly, but he’s willing to adjust his cultural understanding if he’s off. What is an Altean if not flexible in this manner?

The teasing doesn’t have the desired effect. Shiro’s face falls with each new word Coran speaks, flushing red and only mumbling a reply when Coran finally pauses. His response is so quiet that a human would probably miss it. Coran’s ears twitch. What had Lance said? _The better to hear you with?_ Strange, but applicable. Coran’ll take it.

“They sent me away,” is what Shiro mumbles.

“Did they?” Coran asks. Shiro jumps, surprise etched across every line of his youthful face. “What for?”

Shiro curls in on himself even tighter, hugging his knees with his arm. He shakes his head.

“No?”

Shiro shakes his head harder. He doesn’t budge.

A lazy trio of auburn comets drifts by the window; Coran studies them for a time. This is a delicate situation to be sure. Jokes and good humor aside, Coran’s grown deeply attached to these five humans and their strange primitive ways. Each of them has their strengths and their weaknesses: Lance, suffering from homesickness. Keith, isolating himself in strange hours on the training deck. Pidge, who’d take the entire ship apart if Coran let her just to see how things ‘ticked’. (A “pun”, she called it? Terrible.) Hunk, whose cooking always benefits from a bit of oversight. And Shiro…

For the first time the enormity of what has befallen their Black Paladin truly strikes him. This isn’t just a child, stung by the unjustness of the universe. This isn’t just a soldier, struggling with the side effects of war. This isn’t just one of Coran’s Paladins, overcome by the magnitude of circumstance and responsibilities.

This is Shiro, struggling with the weight of one too many things to balance, with one too few tools to do so.

His situation is equivalent to an injury or an illness and yet uniquely fits neither category. Though Coran has encountered the relative theory behind “de-aging” a time or two before, he’s never had any personal experience with it - leastways, not enough to offer more than educated guesses and hastily drawn conclusions. The theories he’s heard on the subject have always been just that: theories, sometimes linked to strange space anomalies, never consistent or supported by any scientific research or proof. The deliberate procedure the Nafralians appear to have perfected is groundbreaking. The research Coran’s managed to translate thus far has been exceedingly fascinating.

Or it would be, if he didn’t also have a firsthand seat to the suffering said research has actually caused. However the categorization falls (injury, illness, the _how_ or the _why_ or the _when),_ the fact of the matter remains.

Shiro is not himself. He is unwell and he is desperately, obviously unhappy.

Coran softens utterly.

“You can tell me,” he urges. “Go ahead. Run it by your friendly TDS.”

Shiro blinks, startled into paying attention. “My what?”

…perhaps not the best lead-in. “Ah, never mind. Tell your - ah, tell old space-uncle Coran what’s happened to make you so upset, hm? Who sent you away?”

Shiro stares fixedly at his toes. Though his head’s still ducked, it doesn’t hide the wobbling of his chin or the fresh shimmer welling up in his eyes.

“Lance,” he mumbles.

Coran blinks, his jaw dropping agape in genuine shock. _“Lance?_ Why?”

A single fat tear spills over, rolling thick and miserable down Shiro’s cheek. “B-because I asked if we could go in the Lions.”

Oh. Oh, _no._

“I asked _n-nicely,”_ Shiro stutters, and the dam utterly breaks. Several large tears spill down his cheeks, a heartbreaking flood. “They asked if I had ideas and I _d-did,_ but they d-didn’t _like_ them and they _sent me away_ and everyone w-was yelling and I d-didn’t mean to, I didn’t _know,_ they asked and I - I didn’t _know!”_

Nope. Nope, none of this. Coran won’t stand for this. He wraps an arm around Shiro’s little form, gently tugging him closer and into a hug - firm but not too much so (Shiro’s too small for that). This time Shiro sags into him without resistance, sobbing even as he hides his face in the sleeve of the oversized sweater. That’s alright, too. Whatever makes him most comfortable in this moment. Coran’s not going to push.

“Shhh,” Coran hums, rubbing circles into tiny shaking shoulders. “There now, it’ll be alright. Let it out, little one. You can let it all out with me.”

“Lance _promised,”_ Shiro hiccups. He’s clearly trying to get a hold of himself, but he’s so distraught and upset the words keep tumbling out. “He _p-promised_ he’d take me in B-blue and now he _won’t,_ he won’t at all, I don’t know what I did b-but he _won’t!”_

“It’s nothing you did,” Coran insists, pulling back to catch a glimpse of Shiro’s face. Shiro buries said face right back in his sleeve. “Shiro, that you can’t see the Lions is not your fault. Do you understand? It is _nothing_ you have done.”

“Then _why?”_ Shiro wails. The sound muffles itself in the fabric but not enough.

“Shiro,” Coran says, steadily. “Look at me.”

He waits, patient and calm. Eventually Shiro does, hiccuping one last sob as the tears finally slow. His nose is running, stuffed and clogged, which he tries to snuff clear into the floppy sleeve.

That will never do.

“Here.” Coran fishes a handkerchief out of the mysterious ol’ chest pocket in his uniform. Without preamble, he wipes Shiro’s face clear of tear tracks and then holds it to his nose. “Blow.”

Shiro does obligingly. Coran sets the handkerchief away to dispose of later and produces another one, just in case, which he tucks into Shiro’s hand. Small fingers clutch at it, a lifeline. “Never be caught without one, hm? Now, I want you to listen to me and listen very close.”

“‘kay,” Shiro whispers. The word wobbles.

Coran tilts his head just to be sure Shiro’s looking at him. Shiro meets his gaze, and though his eyes are wet and red-rimmed, he’s listening.

It’ll do.

“None of this is your fault,” Coran says, absolutely, one-hundred-and-fifty-five-percent seriously. There’s no math involved in this degree of sincerity. “I know this is hard. I know it’s not easy for you to be in this situation. But it is not your fault, little one. The adults in your life and on this ship - well, we know what we’re doing.” Sort of. “It may seem ‘unfair’, perhaps, but our only priority right now is to look out for _you._ Lance didn’t break his promise to be mean, or spiteful, or because of anything _you_ did. He’s doing it to protect you.”

“The Lions would never hurt me,” Shiro pouts, sullen, though he says it quietly to his knees.

“Never on purpose, but you are quite small,” Coran reasons. “Could you imagine how badly the Blue Lion might feel if something happened to you while you were visiting her? Or the Yellow Lion? Accidents do happen; those aren’t anyone’s fault either. How badly do you think Lance or Hunk would feel if that happened on their watch?”

Shiro scoots the toes of one socked foot along the floor. “The Lions have feelings?”

…well that isn’t _entirely_ the conclusion Coran wanted him to draw. Whoops.

“It’s - complicated, but I suppose you could call them ‘feelings’, yes,” Coran confirms, “But that’s beside the point. The point is: you can trust us to look out for you, Shiro. I know this isn’t what you want, but it is what is best for now. We’re not in this to hurt you and it is _not_ your fault.”

Shiro turns back toward the wide window and the vast expanse of space. The three comets have moved on; Shiro’s gaze flits from star to star as he thinks, pensive and oddly thoughtful for his age. Coran waits.

“Okay,” Shiro says, at last, his voice small but finally sincere.

“There you are, then,” Coran says. Phew. Narrow escape. He pats Shiro’s shoulders one more time. “Feel better?”

Shiro shrugs. The right sleeve’s come undone again, flopping back to the floor. “I guess. Um. Mister Coran? Can I ask you something?”

Oh, the innocence of youth!

“‘Coran’ is fine,” Coran says, though his heart is so very warmed. “Or Uncle Coran, if you insist. Fire away.”

Shiro blinks.

“You can ask,” Coran clarifies.

“Oh.”

Shiro fidgets, toes shifting, shoulders tense. Before Coran can figure out how to wheedle out whatever’s bothering him this time, Shiro blurts all at once and quite fast: “WhyamItheonlykidonthisship?”

Coran’s ears, good as they are, cannot entirely identify the syllables quickly enough.

“Uh,” Coran says, “Maybe - a _touch_ slower on that one?”

Shiro shifts uneasily, but stands his ground as he repeats the question determinedly.

“Why am I the only kid on this ship?”

Coran’s brain skids to a full screeching halt.

Uhhhhh.

_Red alert! Red alert!!_

Coran opens his mouth to answer. “Well, see, that’s because - “

Oh no. Oh no, he wasn’t ready for this at all. He should’ve known better: Shiro’s still the Black Paladin. Even shrunk, the level of intelligence and intuition still firing on his primitive synapses remains exceptional. How could Coran have underestimated him so thoroughly?

“That’s - an interesting observation,” Coran manages, mostly to stall for time. “W-w-what brought this up?”

Shiro stares at him, eyebrows scrunched in pure disbelief. “The…fact that I’m the only kid on this ship?”

Uh. Ah. _Come on, Coran! This can’t be worse than dealing with the rampage of wild Ky’loxian termites!_

“Why do you think?” Coran blurts, right back.

Ah. Excellent solution. Certainly better than 'because one of you is enough?' 'We can’t stand how cute you are so we couldn’t take on two?' The truth? No, no, not the truth. Coran will uphold his promise to Allura, even if the rest of the Castle’s inhabitants have apparently thrown her suggestions out the airlock.

To Coran’s great relief Shiro tilts his head in thought, pondering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly. He’s looking out the window again. A trio of crystal-stars spin beneath the ship’s window in a complicated blue loop. “But it…doesn’t make sense.”

Something in his tone is…off.

Coran sits all the way up. “Beg pardon?”

Shiro’s eyes have softened - no. He’s staring not out the window but into the middle distance, eyes soft but not afraid. He’s not seeing the stars.

A chill runs down Coran’s spine, leaving caution and an odd uncertainty pooling in its wake.

“A lot of things don’t make sense,” Shiro murmurs. There’s a clarity in his eyes that wasn’t there before; a narrow sort of heightened focus, dark and thoughtful. His voice shifts too, less of the child-like panic and more like…like…

“Shiro?” Coran breathes.

Shiro blinks. The strange expression clears. He stares at Coran, still young, bewildered, blinking in plain confusion. “Yes?”

The moment’s gone.

 _What was that,_ Coran can’t ask. He gropes for the words but they’re not forthcoming. For a long heartbeat he and Shiro just stare at each other, alone in the bow of a ship sailing through empty space.

 _What was_ **_that?_ **

“Well,” Coran finally says, recovering. Plenty of time to ponder mysteries later. “The point is, Shiro, I’m always willing to listen anytime you need a friendly ear. You heard Lance yesterday: Altean ears are perfect for the job.”

He wiggles his ears as proof. Shiro laughs - short but earnest, his face lighting up with the surprise. Plus seventeen points to the TDS.

Coran can think of at least ten other things he should be doing right now. Most of preliminary storage needs to be re-organized into more useful categories for their current season of life with four paladins - and a child? - on board. Two of the cryo-pods are overdue for a recalibration to accommodate fragile human physiology. The ‘space-goo’ replicator could stand a thorough cleaning out, and Coran honestly can’t remember the last time someone thought to rid the potential Third and Fourth lounges of - what did Lance call them - ‘dust rabbits’? Highly dangerous, in Coran’s opinion. None of those chores even come close to the Nafralian research, which still won’t translate itself: the same research that’s the only cure for Shiro’s current condition. Coran’s doing everything in his power to make sure that reversal comes about as safely and quickly as possible, but in the meantime - oh -

Somehow all of it pales in the face of this single task ahead of him now.

What is the harm in making a child laugh?

“Now, then,” Coran says, stretching his arms all the way up and overhead. His spine cracks. Ahhh. “Shall we go find the others? They’re probably worried sick about you.”

“Can’t,” Shiro says simply. He’s sitting cross-legged too now, considerably more relaxed and bright-eyed. “The castle’s too big.”

“Ah, but you see, it’s actually quite easy to figure out,” Coran says, with one of Lance’s - er - ‘finger guns’ for emphasis. “It’s true the castle is a ‘big place’, but once you know your way around it’s a snap. It was built to be symmetrical. Do you know what that means?”

Shiro bites his lip. “Umm. It’s the same…?”

“Same on both sides,” Coran agrees, grinning. “Good work, Number Six.”

“Number Six?” Shiro repeats, craning his head to keep Coran in sight as Coran stands up.

“You’re the smallest,” Coran explains easily, as he holds out his hand. Shiro takes it gladly, and Coran hoists him easily to his little feet and then all the way up into the air. “Up we go - there you are! Come along, then. I want to show you something.”

“What is it?” Shiro asks, perched on Coran’s hip. He hangs on as Coran carries him up onto the dais and over to the control panels.

Coran’s eyes flash, perhaps a little wicked. Certainly not a bit devious. Of course not. “ _We_ , my friend, have access to the security cameras. What would you say to a little payback, hmm? See if we can’t find them faster than they can find us.”

“Does that always happen?” Shiro breathes. His little fingers cling to Coran’s jacket, wrinkling the fabric. Coran can’t bring himself to care in the slightest.

“People getting lost in this castle? Oh yes,” Coran says, chuckling fondly. His fingers easily bring up the security cameras; Shiro gasps with delight as the whole array spreads out in the air before them, leaning forward in Coran’s grip. “All the time, as a matter of fact. Look, there, in the lower left. Do you see?”

Shiro leans forward, then gasps with recognition. “Pidge!”

“Hard at work in her lab,” Coran confirms. On screen Pidge taps away at her laptop, completely oblivious to the shifting cameras. “These cameras can find anyone, anywhere, so long as they’re in our castle. We’ve got a few exterior ones too, but those tend to be operated remotely and I’d need Allura to power them up.”

“Anywhere in the Castle?” Shiro repeats, eyes wide with wonder.

Coran nods. “Anywhere in the Castle. Want to help me look for the others?”

“Okay.” Shiro’s already turned his attention back to the screens, fidgeting in Coran’s arms as he studies the displays seriously. “What do we do once we’ve found them?”

A tiny noise squeaks from above. It’s too quiet for Shiro to hear, but Coran’s twitching ears can’t help but pick it up. He turns his head ever so slightly.

One of the mice - Plachu, the little fiend - waves down at him from one of the vents in the wall.

“I think we’ll stay right here,” Coran says, smiling.

 

This is how Allura and the primary-colored Paladins find them, bursting onto the bridge roughly seven minutes later.

“I found you!” Shiro exclaims, peering over Coran’s shoulder. The lights flicker on as Keith slaps the control panel, brightening the entire room into artificial daylight. “I saw you coming. Coran, it worked!”

“Shiro!” Lance hurries right over, the fastest out of all of them, arms already outstretched. He hesitates at the last second, a tentative wariness that Coran needs no manual to read. It’s unnecessary. Shiro holds his only arm out with a grin and Lance scoops him up from Coran immediately, all the tension forgotten. “Where have you been?!”

“Don’t do that again,” Keith says, close at hand as he angles around Lance’s arm to tap Shiro lightly on the chest. Keith’s practically nose-to-nose with his shrunken friend, and Coran doesn’t comment on the tremor in the Red Paladin’s voice. “Don’t just disappear like that! Didn’t you know how worried we were?”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro mumbles, unusually somber. His fingers pick at the zipper on Lance’s jacket. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Hunk completes the trio from Lance’s other side, one large hand patting Shiro’s shoulder reassuringly. It’s more of a grounding touch for Hunk than anything, Coran’s pretty sure. “It’s okay, Shiro, that’s our fault. We should’ve thought of that. We’ll go show you where your room is right now, okay?”

“Coran showed me on the screens,” Shiro announces proudly, pointing back at them. The cameras flicker.

Allura gapes, joining the group to stand by Coran. “Were you just sitting here watching us this whole time?!”

“Of course not!” Coran huffs. “We’d never do anything so Nefarious and Dastardly as keep an eye on you from a safe location. Would we, Number Six?”

Shiro giggles.

“Number Six?” Hunk repeats weakly.

“Shiro, is this true?” Lance demands, before Coran can clarify. He squints down at Shiro, but the grin on his face totally ruins his ‘serious’ accusations. “Were you playing a prank on me?”

“Maybe.” Shiro scrunches his face right back, eyes grinning too. “Can we play hide and seek?”

“No!” Allura says, sharply.

“No,” Keith overlaps, at exactly the same time.

“We _just_ found you, man!” Hunk cries.

“Maybe not just yet,” Lance manages, while Shiro’s still blinking around in confusion. He bounces Shiro on his hip until Shiro smiles again, fingers clinging in trust. “First let’s go actually see where your room is, so you know for later when it’s nap time.”

Shiro frowns. “No nap.”

“How about lunch?” Hunk dovetails smoothly. “Since _somebody_ missed it.”

“Is it space goo again?” Shiro asks.

Lance pokes him. “Don’t tease, I can hear your stomach growling already.”

“Um, that was mine,” Keith says.

Coran taps the screens closed, letting them wink out one by one from his console. “I should get back to it. Research won’t percolate itself, you know.”

“Have you been here this whole time, Coran?” Allura asks, incredulously.

“It was my pleasure,” Coran says, and is rewarded with Shiro’s beaming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you read? Please consider leaving a comment! Several of your comments over the last few weeks were responsible for getting me off my butt and back into the groove of this. Your words matter and completely encourage me, not to mention they absolutely make my day. So thank you!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com), where I'm running my second Follower Milestone Celebration! Over the last two months I wrote 30k+ of [Voltron AU fills](http://archiveofourown.org/series/605149) for the first celebration. Now as a thank-you to my followers, I'm running a [poll](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/156895242448/in-celebration-of-200-250-300-followers-so) where you can vote for which AU you'd like to see a continuation of. I'm closing voting in a few days, so hop on over if you're interested! The poll's not tumblr-exclusive, but the results will be...  
> (As a heads-up: I'm **not a spoiler-free blog** for season two. If you haven't seen it yet....please do that.)
> 
> Lastly! In the last two months I've also been so blessed to receive magnificent **smol!Shiro art!!** Eeeeeeee! Please encourage these wonderful artists, I'm so excited I can't put it into words.
> 
> The amazing [smokelesseyes](http://smokelesseyes.tumblr.com) drew not one, not two, but THREE SMOL!SHIROS all in a matter of days. He is so CUTE and his hair floof just keeps getting bigger!! Check them out!  
> [Smol Angry Bean](http://smokelesseyes.tumblr.com/post/154472245350/another-small-shiro-for-butteredonions-voltron)  
> [Smol Happy Bean](http://smokelesseyes.tumblr.com/post/154486429195/what-do-i-do-at-work-whilst-waiting-for-something)  
> [Smol Excited Bean](http://smokelesseyes.tumblr.com/post/154515831200/excited-bean-the-look-when-he-finally-gets-to-see)
> 
> The exceptionally talented [bajillionkittens](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com) drew this _smol!Shiro **comic**_ , which I am STILL screaming about, also featuring Hunk and Lance and a misunderstanding and I. I'm just incoherent looking at it again, eeeeeeeee! What a gift!  
> [Find it here!](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com/post/154874590207/these-are-a-few-of-my-favorite-fics-for-the)
> 
> That's it from me! verbose onion out. Take care 'til next time~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith and Pidge make a difficult choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Shiro!! When I saw the announcement of his birthday I just KNEW I had to squeeze out an update for this special day. As an added bonus: it's my birthday too! I'm so so pleased to be able to give for Shiro and to you <3
> 
> This chapter wouldn't have made it today without the help of my best friend [ashinan](http://ashinan.tumblr.com), who took time out of her busy busy schedule to work through this chapter and make it ten times better. You are more kind to me than I deserve.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments, kudos, reblogs, and likes (and ART?!) on the last chapter! I'm seconds away from bursting into tears every time I think about the sheer level of support and enthusiasm from all of you. When I started this story I never imagined any of this. There aren't words for how much this means to me. I'm continually blown away by how excited and passionate you all are for my little story. I'm getting to your comments, but please please know that I'm so very touched and delighted you all are enjoying so much <3 From me to you! Happy double birthday!
> 
> ETA 6/11/18: The fantastic art in this chapter is entirely thanks to [littlewhitetie](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com). Thank you SO much for illustrating one of my absolute favorite scenes. You are the real gift, here.

They arrive at the chosen supply planet right on schedule, popping out of a wormhole in the shadow of a beautiful blue moon.

“This must be a quick stop,” Allura cautions them. The planet waits out the windows of the bridge, its atmosphere bright and salmon-orange. As the clouds shift, grey skyscrapers poke beneath their depths, visible even from here. It’s a metropolis waiting for exploration. “Hunk, do you have the list of necessary supplies?”

Hunk pats one of his many pockets. “Right here.”

“Excellent,” Allura says. “The Lions are too recognizable; you, Lance, and I will go down in one of the pods. Keith, you are in charge until we return.”

“I can’t come?” Shiro asks. Lunch and a few hours of play did wonders for everyone’s mood. He’s clinging to Keith’s hand, staring up at Allura in a meek sort of forlorn.

Allura crouches down to his level, eye to eye, and winks. “I have a more important job for you, little one. Are you ready for it?”

Shiro draws himself up to his full height. It isn’t much. “Yes.”

Allura regards him steadily, a Princess charging a serious duty unto her Knight.

“You must stay here with Keith and protect the ship in our absence,” she says. Shiro hangs on her every word, mouth agape in a little ‘o’. “Can you do that?”

Shiro’s little chest puffs with pride. “Yes!”

“That’s my brave Paladin.” Allura beams and straightens up, giving Shiro an affectionate pat on the head. “I knew I could count on you.”

If her graceful hand lingers for a second too long, no one has the heart to call her on it.

Lance elbows Keith, pulling his attention away. “You sure you got this, mullet? Castle’s a pretty big place and all.”

“Don’t call me that,” Keith says, “We’ll be fine.”

Allura turns her attention to him. “If you do need anything, I’m certain Coran wouldn’t mind.”

“We’ll be fine,” Keith reassures them, again.

Coran’s helped enough for one day, having squirreled himself away with the research again as soon as Shiro was safely back in good hands. This morning’s impromptu adventure with Shiro’s escape was plenty; Keith can’t stomach the thought of how badly the whole thing could’ve gone. He’s beyond grateful that Coran’s the one who found Shiro, but honestly, that should never have fallen on Coran’s plate in the first place. Coran’s duty is to translate that research. Keith doesn’t intend to disturb his progress or priorities any more than strictly necessary. Same with Pidge, holed up in her own lab since at least breakfast. Hopefully her arm-mapping technology has advanced significantly over the last several hours.

“I fed Pidge,” Hunk offers, before Keith can. “I mean, I didn’t feed her, she’s an independent intelligent bean capable of controlling her own bodily functions, but I took her down a plate of goo. She said she’d eat.”

“We’ll check,” Shiro volunteers, immediate and fierce. He turns to go but Keith’s still holding onto his hand and tugs him right back.

“Hang on, bud. We’re going to give her some time to make the healthy choice on her own.”

“It’s Pidge,” Shiro says, doubtful.

“Kid learns fast,” Lance says, proud. “Who taught him that?”

Hunk pokes him good-naturedly. “Pretty sure that was you.”

“We’ll give her an hour,” Keith decides. “You and I have some things to do instead.”

Shiro blinks up at him, curious. “We do?”

 

The thing is, Keith’s working on a theory.

Shiro’s stuck in a new body; that much is clear. It’s also painfully obvious that most of his memories are gone or locked away. What's hopeful is that a handful of them have already resurfaced. What isn’t obvious is the extent of these still-surfacing memories.

There’ve been countless opportunities since returning to the castle that Shiro’s definitely missed. The ship alone should have triggered something. Keith’s not sure what the magical phrase is, if there’s a common theme among Shiro’s memories in the last day and a half, but the facts can’t be denied. There are things Shiro's remembering. Unpredictable and scattered, yes, but it's undeniable.

The unpredictability is partly what Keith had been discussing with Pidge.

 _Strong memories,_ Pidge had said. _Associated with crisis._ Scars certainly qualified.

What’s much more preferable, and certainly easier to stomach, is the opposite.  _Shiro remembered the Black Lion._

 _He remembered_ **_you._**

If happy things will also bring back some of Shiro’s suppressed memories, Keith’s willing to do his damnedest to provide.

“Where did you go?” Keith calls loudly, scanning every visible inch of the training deck except for directly behind him.

There is the _tiniest_ tap of a small hand against the back of his knee.

“Aaaaghh,” Keith exclaims dramatically, and falls down ‘dead.’

His attacker giggles. 

Keith stifles his own grin. Really, he can think of few things better than the times he and Shiro have spent together doing simple spars like this. Keith will never forget the first time he truly landed a hit Shiro wasn’t expecting, sneaking in and under Shiro’s defenses to slam him down on the mats. How quickly the winded shock on Shiro’s face faded to immeasurable pride, fierce and warm. How Keith had offered him a hand up and Shiro’d only pulled him down, returning Keith’s indignant squawks with gleeful teasing. How hard they’d both laughed, proud and exhausted and full of young exuberant joy. That joy had echoed around the corners of the Garrison’s gym that night and many others, again, and again, and again.

That memory has to be in there _somewhere._ If not that one, then something desperately like it.

Keith’s sure of it.

He lays still on the floor for three seconds, four, then five, not moving. Little feet patter up to his head. Keith squeezes his eyes shut, but twitches when Shiro pokes a stubby finger into his cheek.

“You’re not really dead, right?”

Keith doesn’t move.

Shiro’s voice tints with worry. “Keith?”

Keith ‘wakes up’ with a shout of triumph, grabbing Shiro as his little friend leans over. “Gotcha!”

“Noooooo!” Shiro squeals, but it’s too late. Keith attacks without mercy, striking exactly where Shiro’s ticklish. Shiro shrieks with glee, squirming away, but he’s laughing too hard to stand even a chance. Keith’s laughing, too. He avoids all the sensitive spots - the scars Lance mentioned late this morning, what remains of Shiro’s right arm - but the rest is fair game. They pass a terrific few minutes until at last they stop, both winded.

They lay there, Keith flat on his back on the training floor, Shiro on top of him gasping for breath between giggles. Keith wraps his arms around Shiro; Shiro lays his head down on Keith’s chest. For a moment they’re just still, content, the ghosts of their laughter echoing through and around the hollow spaces of the training deck. It’s a good way to end their impromptu little session.

_ _

_(art by[littlewhitetie](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com/post/173708747088/a-smol-gift-for-one-of-the-best-fic-writers-out))_  

This afternoon - this “sparring” session - hasn’t exactly gone the way Keith hoped. There’s been no gasp of recognition from Shiro at any point, no flood of revelation, no instant miraculous return to _himself_ that Keith can see. What’s happened, however, has certainly been close enough.

Shiro hasn’t forgotten how to fight. It’s mostly that right now he doesn’t really want to.

Under the guise of teaching and games Keith’s prompted several ideas, but Shiro’s been extremely reluctant to engage in any sort of offense. He’s balked at every “violent” or “harmful” attack that might hurt Keith, no matter how often or patiently Keith explained that Shiro _can’t_ hurt him like this. It’s fine. Keith’s not willing to push. The chances of Shiro needing a good offensive strategy while trapped in this form are exceedingly slim. And in the areas of dodging, ducking and weaving, however -

\- Shiro’s a _pro._

Despite gentle tendencies and hesitant offense, the muscle memory is obviously _still there._ Keith’s largely been correcting really: adjusting for the change in stature, reach, and strength (as well as the missing arm, but if Pidge has her way that’s not a long-term problem). The muscle memory’s definitely there. _Shiro’s_ still in there, however quiet, however small.

Keith can work with that.

“That was good,” Keith says, tapping Shiro’s shoulderblades gently to get his attention. “Next time you can do it with more force, okay? If I was a real bad guy, you’d hit my knee with everything you’ve got.”

Shiro just nods against Keith’s chest, content to be still. In general Keith’s satisfied with giving Shiro space, letting his friend work through what he needs to on his own, but recently - well, Keith’s also sure there’s some things Shiro shouldn’t be left alone to deal with. Keith was working on it, after Kerberos. Before this. He’ll work on it now, too.

All of this - this careful application of time, patience - _this,_ Keith can do. If what Shiro needs is time, space, and gentle encouragement, Keith is damn well going to be there to give it all to him. No matter what form his friend is in or what form that encouragement takes.

Keith’s never giving up.

“You know we’re here for you, right?” Keith says, quietly. Shiro blinks up at him. “All of us. Hunk, Pidge, Lance, Coran and Allura. The mice, too. Nothing’s going to happen to you as long as we’re here.”

Shiro ducks his head down again, heavy against Keith. He still doesn’t say anything. Keith frowns.

“Hey.” Keith jostles Shiro slightly to get his attention. “What’s up? I can hear how hard you’re thinking. I think you got lost.”

“I’m not lost,” Shiro says, a protest. He fidgets, a shifting of negligible weight as his fingers fiddle almost reverently along the fabric of Keith’s shirt. “I…can I ask you something?”

 _Deflect,_ Allura’d said. Their original plan’s still blown nearly out of the water, held intact only by sheer stubbornness and expert damage control from Hunk and Coran. Keith’s not surprised that it’s his turn. He’s more surprised that it took Shiro an entire hour to work up to it. “Sure. Shoot.”

There’s all manner of questions Keith’s expecting. _What happened to my arm_ is still one nobody’s been asked. _Why are we in space_ would be another good one. _Tell me more about the Lions_ is probable, and  as much as Keith’s not looking forward to disappointing Shiro on that one, he’s ready if it comes. Keith’s planned ahead. Whatever it is, Keith’s ready.

“Do you think Lance likes me?”

…except for that. Keith blinks, thrown. “Lance? Of course he does. Why do you say that?”

“Coran says Lance didn’t lie on purpose,” Shiro mumbles, now fidgeting with the hem of Keith’s collar. The fabric brushes against Keith’s collarbone as it shifts; Keith ignores it largely because of the sincere upset still coloring Shiro’s words. “But he broke a _promise_. Why would he make a promise if he’s not going to keep it?”

“I don’t think he knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep,” Keith says slowly. Part of him can’t believe he’s talking up Lance to Shiro, of all people, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Shiro’s quiet distress definitely qualifies. “Coran tell you that?”

“But it doesn’t make _sense,”_ Shiro blurts. “Lance was so happy yesterday when he was showing me Blue. Then Hunk came down and Lance went away to talk to Allura and now everything’s changed.”

“Did it? How do you know it was because Hunk came down?”

Shiro makes a face. “They were sneezing at each other.”

Keith cannot swallow his snort of laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Shiro protests, hurt.

“I believe you,” Keith says, stifling his amusement. (Shiro’s tiny glare indicates Keith’s failed.) “Sneezing, huh? What do you make of that?”

Shiro mumbles his response so quietly Keith can’t hear it.

“Nope, none of that,” Keith says, tapping Shiro on the shoulder in a light reprimand. “Tell me what you think.”

Shiro fidgets, squirming. Keith waits.

“I think it’s a code?” Shiro suggests, hesitantly, after a long minute. “It was really - really - uh - ”

“Deliberate?”

Shiro blinks.

“On purpose?” Keith amends.

“Yeah.”

Huh.

“Well, the two of them are old friends,” Keith says, thoughtfully. “It would make sense if they had something like that.”

He’d dismissed it at first, but the longer the idea rolls in Keith’s head the more he has to admit Shiro has a point. Considering how old Lance and Hunk’s friendship is, how well they’d known each other before even finding the Blue Lion? Yeah, it makes total sense. And if the two of them have a code, Pidge is probably in on it too. Dammit. Whatever the code is it’s subtle enough that Keith’s never noticed. He fights down a surge of jealousy, familiar and worn. Now’s not the time.

“Do we have a code?” Shiro asks, blinking up at him.

Keith pauses.

“Do we or can we?” he repeats, slowly.

“Did we,” Shiro amends. Keith stills. “When - when you knew me. Before.”

 _Deflect_ , Allura’d said. Keith’s not going to _lie._

“Not in as many words,” he says, slowly, “but we could probably make one if you’d like. Would you like that?”

“Can we use it to talk about Lance and Hunk?”

Keith’s grin nearly breaks his face in half. “You mad?”

“Not mad,” Shiro says, and his words are sincere even if his eyes are positively gleaming with sneaky smugness. “But it’d be fair.”

“Then we can do that,” Keith says decisively. “You start thinking and I’ll start thinking, and we’ll see what we can come up with. But first: you did really well today, Shiro. I think we’ve earned a treat.”

Shiro perks. “Space juice?”

Keith’s smile turns fond. “We can go get a space juice.”

“Good,” Shiro says, happily. “Hunk says he found a new flavor. And we still have to feed Pidge.”

Still looking out for others. Shiro never fails to impress him, even small.

“Let’s take her some,” Keith suggests, and levers them both up off the floor.

 

“Pidge,” Keith announces, loud and clear from the doorway. “Did you eat? We’re here to investigate.”

An immediate crash answers him, booming from further back in the lab. It’s less an explosion and more a clatter of metallic equipment accompanied by a surprised yelp.

“Does she need help?” Shiro wonders where he’s perched on Keith’s hip. “Should we go in?”

“Give her a second,” Keith says. He readjusts his grip easily as Shiro peers around the doorjamb. “Pidge?”

“I ate,” comes the echoing call, over the clash and bang of more equipment. “Gimme - just - okay, okay, get in here.”

Shiro’s eyes widen when Keith finally crosses the threshold into Pidge’s lab, gaze darting immediately from strange object to weird experiment to peculiar tools. Keith keeps the squirming Shiro safely in his arms and carries him over to Pidge’s worktable.

Pidge has at least covered her primary project with a sheet, somewhat abruptly from the haphazard draping over what’s still obviously an arm. (The sheet’s caught on the fingers.) Wires stretch from underneath the sheet to Pidge’s laptop, but the computer is turned back towards the wall so whatever’s running on screen isn’t visible.

She must be getting close. Pidge’s dedication to this project is intense and a little frightening, to be perfectly honest. How long does it take to build a miniature semi-functioning arm? How long has Pidge been down here, all by herself? How long has she been here, single-mindedly focused on her work, both as a personal goal and as an apology for a situation she probably still believes is her fault?

 _Shiro doesn’t even_ know _me!_

Keith can fix that.

“Hey, Shiro,” Pidge says. Her expression softens as the two of them draw near, cat-hooked smile fond and tucked in the corners. “How’s it going?”

“Hi,” Shiro replies meekly. He leans into Keith a little more, somewhat shy.

Pidge’s gaze flickers over Shiro, taking in every detail about his miniature form from the flop of the white hair into his eyes to the oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder. Keith tugs the sweater up.

“Here, I’ve got just the spot for you,” Pidge says, tapping her hand against a cleared place on the worktable. If she’s surprised by Shiro’s sudden shyness Keith can’t tell. “Any news from the others yet?”

“None,” Keith says, setting Shiro down. Shiro’s legs dangle off the wide worktable, well above the floor. Shiro keeps his fingers curled in Keith’s jacket - until the array of tools scattered across Pidge’s workstation catches his attention enough that his grip loosens. That’s progress. “I’m assuming they’re on schedule, or we would’ve heard.”

“What’s that?” Shiro asks, reaching.

…too much progress. “Don’t touch,” Keith starts, taking Shiro’s wrist.

“No, no, that one’s okay,” Pidge says. She picks up the little tool Shiro’d been reaching for, bending down slightly to Shiro’s eye level. It’s not far. “This?”

Shiro nods. Keith lets go of his wrist but hovers close.

“This is a pick,” Pidge explains, her eyes alight behind her glasses. The tool in her hand has a base easily sized for gripping, but it’s so small and fine on the other end Keith can barely make out the tapering wire. The entire thing is hardly bigger than Shiro’s thumb. “It helps me get into any little joints - er, connections, sometimes, that are really tight or finicky to get into.”

She drops the pick gently into Shiro’s hand, cupping her fingers beneath his just in case. Shiro stares at it, awed. “It’s so _small.”_

Pidge’s grin turns absolutely smug. “Small things get more done than big ones.”

“You aren’t subtle, Pidge,” Keith says.

“You qualify too,” Pidge quips back. “You don’t see me saying this to Lance, do you? We little guys gotta hold our own, here.”

She winks at Shiro, who attempts to wink back. It is the cutest and most uncoordinated thing Keith’s seen all day. Pidge laughs, her grin free and soft. The awkward tension bleeds out of the room, leaving light-hearted ease in its wake. This was the right choice.

Shiro turns the tool over in his little hand, careful not to drop it. “It’s not dangerous?”

“Not this one,” Pidge says, “This one would be.”

She gestures to another tool lying innocuously on the table, a short sort of knife with a corkscrew handle. The handle’s distinctive, ridged into a tan spiral around a central switch. The blade itself is dull despite all the lights rigged in the work area. “Obiside Blade. When it’s on, it can cut through leather, or metal, or probably even - ”

“Pidge,” Keith interrupts warningly.

“Not that I’d know or have had any occasion to find out,” Pidge amends hastily, and shoves the spiral-handled tool out of sight. “Here, Shiro. Take a look at this.”

She plucks the pick out of Shiro’s hand, holding up another instrument instead. Shiro watches, rapt, as she taps the tool against her hand. It’s larger than the pick, a long and skinny tube of metal attached to what looks like an adjustable hook on the thinnest end.

“This,” Pidge explains, “is a glow wrench.”

She flips a switch on the handle. The hooked part lights up, the metal itself beaming brilliant blue. Shiro gasps.

“Is it actually called a glow wrench?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow.

Pidge’s glasses flash in the reflection. “Closest Altean translation I could get.”

Shiro reaches out carefully toward the handle where several of the wires are exposed. “It’s broken?”

“Did that on purpose.” Pidge flips the power off before his questing fingers can get close. “I wanted to see what makes it light up so I took it apart. Pretty cool, huh?”

“What makes it work, Pidge?” Keith asks as Shiro’s little fingers ghost hesitantly over the handle of the tool. Pidge keeps her thumb over the power switch.

“Still figuring that out,” Pidge says. Shiro pulls away from the tool, pressing back ever-so-slightly towards Keith. Keith shifts his weight to steady his small friend unconsciously, the movement habitual after not even two days. Pidge sets the glow wrench down. “Alright, Shiro. One more and then I could use your help with something. You up for it?”

Shiro blinks, perking up immediately. “I can be helpful!”

“That’s what I thought,” Pidge says, smiling, and picks up one final instrument.

It’s more of a machine than an instrument, really. It’s considerably larger than the fine-picked tool, the wrench, even the knife. Beyond several knobs and a readout screen, the box-like instrument’s most notable feature is the long blue wire connecting it straight to Pidge’s laptop.

“This is a scanner,” Pidge explains. Shiro scoots closer to see; Keith lurches forward to steady him when Shiro overbalances just a little, bracing him. “It helps me figure out the size of things. Right? So it takes measurements of any object I program it to and shoots those specifications right back to my laptop here.”

“That’s magic,” Shiro breathes.

“Close enough,” Pidge smirks. She sets the scanner into his hand, but Shiro’s grip is too small. Pidge keeps hold of the tool, too. “It’s pretty awesome. This is the part I need your help with. Are you ready?”

Shiro sits up straight. “Yes!”

“Excellent,” Pidge says, beaming wickedly. “Because this is going to be good, I promise. Shiro, how would you like to have a cool robot arm?”

Shiro pauses, mouth slightly agape. “A robot - arm?”

“A robot arm,” Pidge repeats proudly, and swivels her laptop around so Shiro can see.

Keith leans forward. On screen a rough copy of an arm is displayed in graphed lines and fractals, detailed all the way down the forearm to the wrist to the thumb. It’s considerable progress since last night, although it’s still missing data above the elbow.

“Pidge,” Keith says. He’s impressed. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks,” Pidge says, preening a little. Keith can’t blame her; it’s entirely deserved. “Just had to get the angle right.”

She taps a command on her keyboard. The fingers of the diagram wiggle independently. Shiro stares, utterly awed. “How did you do that?”

“Oh, it was easy,” Pidge explains. “I took the schematics of y - of an average adult-size arm that I pulled at random from nowhere important, and used a few tools like this one to map it out. And I think I can make a smaller one that would fit you, if you wanted.”

Shiro’s eyes, if possible, widen even further.

“For me?” he whispers.

“For you,” Keith says. Shiro doesn’t acknowledge him, still staring at the screen as Pidge brings up a second diagram: a mimicry of the first, only on a much, much smaller scale. “It might be easier to get around if you had two hands, yeah?”

“Two thumbs,” Pidge chimes in immediately, “Can’t be beat.”

“And you wouldn’t overbalance so much,” Keith adds, reaching to steady Shiro as he nearly tips off the table again.

“Wow,” Shiro breathes. Pidge gently takes the scanner from him. Shiro’s fingers hover hesitantly in midair for a second. He tilts his chin towards the laptop, the smallest of motions. “Does it do anything? How does it get from _there_ to me?”

“It will when I’m finished,” Pidge says, proudly. “Ready for the part where you can help?”

Shiro nods. His gaze is fixed on the computer.

“Okay.” Pidge types in a command, bringing up a different program on the screen. “Remember what I said about this scanner?”

Shiro’s curled his left arm back in towards himself. “Yes.”

“This scanner’s going to help you help me,” Pidge says. She turns a knob on the little machine. The computer screen lights up accordingly, flashing a brief blue message in technical Altean. “All I need from you is just a couple of quick measurements. The scanner’s going to take them.”

“Measurements?” Shiro repeats, wide-eyed. His left hand’s stretched over to the stump of his right, fingers curling unconsciously in the thick fabric.

“Measurements,” Pidge confirms. “Mm-hmm. That way I can make sure the cool robot arm fits you perfectly. It’ll match the size of your other arm, and your shoulder, and your height, and - uh, a bunch of other things. The scanner will send your info straight to my computer. You can watch if you want. Won’t take long. Okay?”

Shiro doesn’t answer. He’s staring at the screen of Pidge’s laptop. Beneath Keith’s bracing hand he’s gone very, very still.

“Shiro?”

Pidge’s grip on the scanner loosens, unsure. Keith leans forward with a frown. Shiro doesn’t respond to either of them, stock-still.

No. He isn’t frozen. He’s trembling, so minutely Keith couldn’t tell at first. His eyes are wide and terrified, staring through the computer screen and clearly, quite clearly, not seeing it at all.

Oh _shit._

Unlike Hunk, Keith’s seen Shiro flashback before. Not often. Shiro’s intensely private about the horrors he experienced under the Galra, which Keith utterly respects. Keith knows very little about what Shiro endured, only the bits and pieces Keith’s pulled out of his best friend in moments of exhaustion, stress, or exceedingly rare quiet reflection.

The handful of times Shiro’s gone _somewhere else_ while Keith’s been present have been - terrifying isn’t the right word, no. Alarming. Upsetting. Deeply unsettling, maybe. Keith’s protective surge of hot, angry horror is never as strong as it is when Shiro relives one of those terrors. He’d thought seeing Shiro go through this, as an adult, was as awful as it could ever get.

Seeing Shiro do this _as a child_ is infinitely, horrifically worse.

“Oh, no,” Pidge breathes.

“Shiro,” Keith says urgently. He shifts around, keeping a hand on Shiro’s back as he angles into what would be Shiro’s direct line of sight if Shiro was focusing, wasn’t staring with terror at something Keith can’t see. “Shiro, can you hear me?”

“We were supposed to remind him of _happy_ things,” Pidge says. She’s terribly pale, but nowhere near as alarmed as Keith expected. Has she witnessed Shiro do this before, too? “His arm - I didn’t even _think.”_

Keith hadn’t, either. It’s no consolation but the bitter truth. Pidge quickly taps a command on her keyboard. The arm simulation vanishes, screen switching over to a blank input. The absence of data doesn’t help. Shiro doesn’t so much as blink.

They don’t have a choice.

“He needs this,” Keith says, quietly. “He can’t go around with one arm, and we don’t - ”

There isn’t a choice. The options for gaining Shiro _two functioning hands_ are exceptionally limited: Pidge’s prosthetic, or returning Shiro to his original size and re-attach the Galra arm. That’s it. Those are the only choices they have. The plainer, kinder option of _wait and see_ could take _months._ “We don’t know how long Coran’s going to be before that research is translated. And after that - ”

“It could still be a search,” Pidge exhales. Her mouth is set in a quivering, unhappy line. “It could take days, weeks before we - Keith, this isn’t - ”

“We’re going to find a way,” Keith promises. The words slip out before he can think better of them, before he can take them back. He _doesn’t care._ They _will_ find a way to restore Shiro to his rightful size. Keith won’t accept any other outcome. “But in the meantime - we gotta make this choice for him, Pidge. Shiro can’t go around like this. He needs your arm.”

Beneath Keith’s hand Shiro trembles, still staring wide-eyed with terror at something neither of them can see. Pidge draws in a shuddering breath.

“Okay,” she says. Her face is determined and grim. “Then let me do this real fast while he’s not - so we don’t have to do this again. Can you let go for thirty seconds?”

They don’t have a choice. They don’t have a _choice._ Keith pulls back, hand hovering bare inches from Shiro’s shoulders. “Good?”

“Good,” Pidge confirms tightly. She readjusts the settings on the scanner, double-checks them, and reaches to tweak Shiro’s right sleeve ever so slightly. “Let me just - ”

Her fingers barely brush the fabric when Shiro screams, flinching violently back. “No!”

“Shiro!”

Keith snatches Shiro right up off the worktable, wrapping both arms around him and holding Shiro safe without any deliberation. Shiro’s _terrified._ “It’s okay. It’s okay, Shiro. It’s just Pidge.”

“Don’t take it,” Shiro sobs, voice heartbreakingly muffled against Keith’s jacket. He’s shaking hard, still caught in whatever he’s seeing, whatever Keith can’t take away from him. “I’ll be good, please, please - ”

“Shiro,” Keith tries. Pidge looks like she’s been slapped, mouth agape in dismay, her knuckles white where she’s still holding the scanner. “Shiro, you’re not there. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Shiro!”

Shiro gasps, sucking in air like he’s drowning. The shaking stops as abruptly as it started, but it’s not over. He’s utterly rigid in Keith’s arms, stiff and frighteningly still.

Pidge gasps. “Keith. His _eyes.”_

Keith pulls back, looking down. Shiro’s gaze is wide and fixed on the wall past Keith’s shoulder. Beneath his lashes the irises of his eyes are blown large. They’re also glowing soft, full gold.

_What?!_

“Keith,” Pidge repeats, urgent and low.

“I see it,” Keith replies, tight and frantic. What should he do? Should he - jostle Shiro? Get his attention? Does he snap him out of it, does he leave him be? “Shiro!”

It’s a full five seconds of deliberation. Shiro’s eyes widen further, if that’s even possible. The glow brightens. His entire frame is rigid and tense, a spring coiled up, ready to snap.

Then as quickly as it came it’s over.

Shiro blinks. The glow fades, like sun slipping back behind a cloud. His eyes roll back and he sags forwards like a puppet whose strings have been cut, heavy and limp in Keith’s arms.

“Shiro!”

Shiro’s not unconscious. His fingers curl tight in Keith’s jacket. He says nothing, face hidden in Keith’s shoulder. Keith holds him closer, meeting Pidge’s eyes over Shiro’s tucked head. She shakes her head, just as panicked and confused.

The message is clear: Pidge has never seen Shiro like this before either. Whatever’s going on is new.

Fury ripples through Keith, fast and hard.

 _What did those alien bastards_ **_do_ ** _to him?_

It’s Pidge who speaks first, tentatively breaking the moment. “Shiro?”

Shiro shakes his head unhappily into Keith’s jacket.

“Shiro, look at me,” Pidge urges. “C’mon. Please?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Shiro peels away from Keith. His eyes are wet and miserable, grey and crystal clear.

Maybe Keith had imagined it? No. There’s no way to make something like that up. _Something’s_ going on. The anger still boils beneath Keith’s skin; he tightens his grip on Shiro reflexively. Shiro’s so defenseless like this. He’s already been through so much. This is the pure opposite of the happiness Keith meant to provide. It’s the literal opposite of every deal he struck with Pidge, every promise Keith made with Allura. Shiro shouldn’t have to go through this, whatever _this_ is. Whatever those Nafralian-tech-stealing aliens did to him. It isn’t fair.

There isn’t time for this. Shiro needs him, still trembling minutely where he’s tucked up in Keith’s grip. Keith swallows, forcing his own distress down. He can deal with this later. He’ll catch Pidge about it later, alone, and they’ll figure out - something. Somehow. Right now Shiro needs them.

“It’s okay,” Keith says, pitching his voice deliberately easy and low. Like Lance, yesterday morning. Has it really only been one day? “Don’t be scared. Pidge just wants to help you, okay? You’re fine. It’s safe. You’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Pidge says, her voice uncomfortably small. The moment’s wounded her too, more rattled than she wants to let on. “I - I didn’t think. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but I - I promise it’s not going to hurt you. It’s just a scan. That’s all the device is going to do. See?”

She holds the instrument up, carefully turning a single knob. Shiro flinches back into Keith.

Pidge glances desperately up at Keith. Her voice shakes. “Right, Keith?”

The look in her eyes says everything they can’t utter aloud. _We have to do this,_ her expression begs, commands, a reminder made up of sorrow and steel. _We don’t like it, but we have to. We have to do this and we have to do this_ **_now._ **

She’s right. This has to happen. Keith hates that Shiro’s been through this, is _going_ through this, but he’s not going to let fear stop his friend from getting something good that could _help._

“Watch,” Keith says instead, and shifts Shiro’s weight so Keith can hold out a hand. Shiro tucks himself as far back against Keith as possible, flinching again as Pidge scans Keith’s wrist with the device. A simple wave of blue light washes over Keith’s forearm, wrist, and fingers. The data transfers automatically. Line by line a perfect replica of Keith’s hand appears on the computer screen, broken down into lines and curves of digitized aqua. The process takes only seconds. “See? Harmless.”

Shiro snuffles, clearly not convinced.

“I’m going to recalibrate this and do mine too,” Pidge explains, falsely bright as she twists a dial on the handle. “Here, I’ll do my hand too so you can see. D’you wanna help?”

In the end it takes scanning Pidge’s full arm, Keith’s head, three of the power tools and all four of the mice before Shiro consents to being scanned. He shakes the entire minute and a half the full-body scan takes.

“All done,” Pidge announces, saving and closing the data before any of them can dwell on it. Keith picks Shiro back up from the worktable, letting his friend hide again without an iota of complaint. “You were very brave, Shiro. Do you want my space juice? I know starberry is your favorite flavor.”

“That’s for you,” Shiro mumbles into Keith’s neck.

“We’ll let you get back to it,” Keith says, meeting Pidge’s eyes over Shiro’s head. A thousand questions linger in her gaze, things neither of them can say right now. “Want me to come get you when the others are back?”

Pidge sighs. “No thanks. I’ve got a lot to get through.”

If there’s a code they can use to communicate, Keith’s not privy to it. He simply nods; he’ll be back later, if he can. Pidge shrugs, the smallest lilt of her shoulders. Keith hopes that’s enough.

“Can you say goodbye to Pidge?” Keith prompts, jostling Shiro gently.

“ ‘bye, Pidge,” Shiro murmurs.

“Come back any time,” Pidge says, but though she ducks her head quickly to fiddle with the scanner, the hurt in her eyes is distinct.

Something in her expression must carry into her voice. Shiro fidgets against Keith, uncomfortable and shy - then without any prompting he tentatively and cautiously lifts his head up from Keith’s shoulder to fix Pidge with a look equal parts hesitant and unsure. “You’re - you’re really going to make an arm? For me?”

“For you,” Pidge agrees. Her smile’s sad. “It’s the least I can do.”

Shiro’s quiet, absorbing this. Keith lets him, content to wait.

Finally Shiro sniffles again, drawing in his courage. “Is it really gonna be a cool robot arm?”

“It really is,” Pidge says. She fiddles with the glow wrench; the tool sparks against her fingers. She sets it back down hastily. “It’s even going to do something fun and special, just for you.”

“Better not be fun like some cut-through-anything blade,” Keith says, pointedly.

“Says the guy obsessed with knives,” Pidge counters.

“Something fun?” Shiro asks, tentatively.

“Something fun,” Pidge says. Her smile’s deepening, still hurt, but more true. “It’s gonna be a surprise, okay? When I’m done, you’re going to have the coolest arm on the entire ship. I promise.”

Shiro hesitates.

“Promise?” he asks at last, and leans forward. He stretches out his one hand, the pinky finger hesitantly but solemnly extended.

The relief in the air is palpable.

“Promise,” Pidge confirms, smiling in earnest, and hooks her pinky finger around Shiro’s in the age-old swear. “You can absolutely count on me.”

 

The red puffiness around Shiro’s eyes fades by the time the rest of the team returns. Keith’s grateful.

“There’s my favorite little man,” Lance exclaims, dropping the cargo he and Hunk are unloading from the pod. “Did you miss me? Did you and Keith get into a lot of trouble?”

“Did you get anything fun?” Shiro asks, trying to peek into one of the oversized, enormous floppy blue bags.

“Ah ah ah, no peeking,” Lance declares, hoisting the bag high out of Shiro’s reach by its yellow fabric handles. “These are _surprises_.”

“Is there anything for me?” Shiro gasps, possibilities abounding.

“Clothes,” Hunk explains, exaggerating a face of disgust as he hands bags to Allura (who gestures that she can hold more, thank you). “Socks. Shoes. Absolutely boring.”

Shiro pouts. “Those aren’t fun.”

“What, you think we went all that way just to get things that are _fun?”_ Lance says, fake exasperation ruined by the familiar shit-eating grin. Keith refrains from rolling his eyes. “What do you take me for? Would I do something as heinous as that?”

“Yes,” Shiro giggles, and lets Lance scoop him up into the air.

Hunk shakes his head fondly. “Kid’s got your number already.”

“Have any problems?” Keith asks, taking an oversized bag from Allura. It’s ridiculously heavy. He nearly drops it in shock.

“Careful!” Hunk exclaims.

Keith adjusts to the weight before the bag can hit the floor. “What’s _in_ this?”

“Food, mostly,” Allura says. She’s handling four bags with ease. “The mission was a success, thank you for asking.”

“The pod gave us a little trouble on the way back, that’s why we’re late,” Hunk explains, setting the last cargo bag on the hangar floor. The pod powers itself down automatically, groaning into mute complacency with a whine. “Think it got dinged in the parking bay. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow. How did things go here?”

Keith hesitates.

He should tell them. _Weird glowing eyes_ isn’t a secret he should keep. The others deserve to know about something as crucial and alarming as that. It’s Keith’s duty to share.

But the thought of reliving this deeply emotional and nerve-wracking conversation just now is singularly exhausting. Keith will do anything for Shiro, sure, but bringing this up so soon? Besides, Allura wouldn’t know what this is. Hunk would probably panic. Lance too, though he’d bound right back with endless questions founded in worry. They all would, and Keith wouldn’t be able to answer. He doesn’t know any more about _glowing eyes_ than they do.

It’s a stopgap choice, but it’s another choice Keith’s making for his best friend. Bringing this up is the last thing they need right now. Especially Shiro.

He glances over. Lance has totally abandoned his single shopping bag and is giving Shiro airplane rides through the hangar bay, complete with sound effects. Shiro’s too busy laughing to even notice anything else.

Keith’s not going to do this to him. Today’s been traumatic enough.

“Fine,” Keith says. “It went just fine.”

This can wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoyed? Please consider leaving a comment! You're also more than welcome to come say hello at me on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com), where I'm reblogging pretty much every Shiro picture I've ever come across today in honor of the occasion. Come yell!
> 
> Last but certainly not least, in terms of absolutely blown away --- I've been so so blessed to receive some amaaaazing fanart over the last few weeks. Check these out and please shower these artists with love!
> 
> [SMOL SHIRO COMIC](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com/post/157111866532/butteredonions-update-chapter-06-previous-01) by the amazing [bajillionkittens](http://bajillionkittens.tumblr.com), less than three hours after the last chapter went up (how are you so fast?!)  
> [Lance telling smol!Shiro a story](http://mushumurphy.tumblr.com/post/157122339728/here-we-have-lance-telling-smolshiro-a-story) by the wonderful [mushumurphy](http://mushumurphy.tumblr.com), so spirited and enthusiastic!  
> [A page of adorable smol Shiro doodles](http://the-doodleer.tumblr.com/post/157298007784/i-said-to-myself-i-should-start-drawing-fan-art), by [the-doodleer](http://the-doodleer.tumblr.com), these are so CUTE!  
> [smol!Shiro napping on Lance](https://niffty24.tumblr.com/post/157798821016/happy-early-because-tumblr-is-being-a-shit-with>Lance%20carrying%20smol!Shiro</a>,%20by%20<a%20href=), by [niffty24](https://niffty24.tumblr.com), even though it's not teeeechnically a take from this fic, it's too cute not to link ;) and. I mean.  
> [smol shiro from ch. 1](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/157192558650/shiro-keith-breathes-completely-and-utterly), by [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com), who is KILLING ME  
> [shiro with his floppy sleeve](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/157205435965/you-cant-tell-me-that-sleeve-would-stay-rolled), also by [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com), don't open this one without a tissue box nearby  
> [a trio of smol shiro sketches](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/157238690815/more-smol-shiros-because-cant-stop-wont-stop), also by [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com), just slaying me over here  
> [happy smol shiro!](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/157539020665/a-smol-shiro-for-your-tuesday-smol-shiro-needs), still by [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com), so HAPPY and CUTE I'm dying  
> [sleeping smol!Shiro](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/157573176055/sleepy-smol), once again by [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com), and so perfect it literally stunned me speechless for almost half an hour.  
> And thanks again to [littlewhitetie](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com) for the [Shiro and Keith](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com/post/173708747088/a-smol-gift-for-one-of-the-best-fic-writers-out) art linked in this chapter!  
>  
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you. I couldn't do this fic without each one of you: artists, readers, kudo-leavers and commenters alike. Have an excellent day, wherever you are. ❤


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro’s very bad day finally ends, and Hunk reaches a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!! :) happy mid-may? I'm thrilled to finally bring you another update. Thank you so much to all of you for your kind kudos, words, and comments; they've really helped keep me going. A lot has happened for me in the last few months. In addition to IRL things, I [have](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/threesentenceficlets) [not](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/159341398858/the-voltron-thinktank-masterpost-week-of-april) [been](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10589598/chapters/23407407) [idle!](http://archiveofourown.org/series/672224)
> 
> Firstly, I've restored the 18-chapter estimate on this story. After some heavy re-visiting of the outline, I'm confident we'll end up right around that ballpark - maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Either way, brace yourself for at least ten more chapters. We'll hit the halfway point around ch. 11.
> 
> Secondly, this chapter's existence is entirely due to the support and tireless efforts of my best friend [Andy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan). This chapter literally would not exist without her coercion and encouragement. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.) Please send her all the love, as well.
> 
> Lastly, one of the joys of writing a WIP as the show is developing is new character information. This chapter is proudly brought to you thanks to the names of the space mice: Chuchule, Chulatt, Plachu, and Platt. Please consult [this handy reference](https://twitter.com/Voltron/status/852914357977497602) if you get confused, which honestly I used more times than I’d care to admit. :) I’ll go back through previous chapters and name our friends when I get the chance. 
> 
> Carry on!

The rest of the evening passes with no bumps to speak of.

“Okay,” Lance announces, emerging back into the hall. The door swishes shut behind him, softly blocking out the gentle blue glow filling the room inside. “He’s out like a light. Poor kid’s pretty tired. You sure you didn’t do anything terrible to him, Mullet?”

“Don’t call me that,” Keith says. He keeps his voice down, leaning around Lance for the door panel. “Leave the door open.”

“Not all the way, he’ll never sleep,” Hunk says hastily, stepping in and kindly but firmly batting Keith’s hand aside. “Let me.”

Lance groans, stretching his arms overhead to get all the kinks out of his spine. “Ughhh, what a long day. I’m so sore, I feel like all we did was walk.”

“Because _some_ body insisted we had to go into every store until we found the ‘perfect’ stuffed animal,” Hunk teases, sparing a hand from his programming to poke Lance in the side.

Lance half-yelps, twisting away easily. Keith jerks forwards, but the door’s still shut tight, blocking out sound from the hall. Shiro’s probably still asleep. “None of them were right!”

“The closest thing we could find was a bunny rabbit,” Hunk explains to Keith. “At least, I think it was a bunny.”

“It had _five rows of teeth,”_ Lance amends, grimacing. Keith blanches. “We got Shiro a nightlight instead. Hunk’s idea.”

Hunk grins. “Yeah, well, your pajama idea was a hit too. Shiro totally loved them.”

“What kid doesn’t love footies?” Lance says, beaming. “I got everyone a pair. You wanna come see yours, Mullet?”

“No,” Keith says in disgust at the same time Hunk overlaps: “Lance, you can’t even find them.”

“My room’s not that messy,” Lance protests, leading the way down the hall. “They’re there somewhere. C’mon.”

Keith hesitates, but Hunk makes a triumphant little noise and enters a careful override into the key panel outside Shiro’s door. The door swishes back open a few inches, left ajar.

“Better?” Hunk says, softly. “We’ll hear him if he needs anything. You coming?”

It’ll do.

“I don’t want footie pajamas,” Keith protests, but follows them anyway down the hall.

 

If one was to ask: what does Shiro remember before being small?

It isn’t much. Flashes, mostly. Warmth. Bright colors. Speed as wind, rushing through clouds. Tactile sensations beneath gripping hands, a mix of blood warmth and ice cold. Massive things. Small things. Things towering above him, larger than buildings, smaller than daydreams racing along his feet. Flashes, still. Laughter. Crippling fear. Darkness, broken by purple cracked through door and windows. Terror. Confusion. Blurs, fast, pumping adrenaline in the rush of -

\- of something. And it’s always gone when he reaches for it, no matter which hand he stretches out. He’s lost.

It hurts to think about, so Shiro doesn’t. There are other, kinder things. The incredible warmth that fills him when visiting Blue, or flying in Red. The security when he’s picked up and held close. The balance of - of how can he reach for things? That doesn’t make sense. He’s only ever had one hand? He should have another. He should. He…

It hurts to think about, but there’s so much there that he can’t help it. The warm blurs fade fast and fade often. So much doesn’t make sense. Some things are pitch-dark and trap him; some things are horrifying and bright; some are overwhelmingly flourescent and painful. Things twist, and things take, and things are more terrifying than Shiro - big or small - can truly comprehend.

It hurts to think about, badly. Harsh violet light bleeds into ten fingers, cold as ice, grasping at things beyond his understanding. The fluorescence overhead is blinding. The terrifying purple light is everywhere, more prevalent and pressing than absolutely everything else. There are memories that are warm, yes; there are memories that are kind. But when the purple light creeps in corners and through cracks, it swallows up every vestige of gentle and soft like a brutal wave. Traps him. Drowns him. When the sickening purple seeps in Shiro can’t remember anything else. Everything else is a secret hidden from him, locked away. He doesn’t _know_ anything else. If he did…?

But he doesn’t. He can’t cling to what he doesn’t know. In the dark hours of _night_ and _alone,_ the warmth slips through his fingers like a sieve. Shiro tries, but can’t grab anything with only one little hand. This is too big for him. He’s alone. It’s so very dark.

The darkness encompasses absolutely everything, and Shiro doesn’t know where it comes from, what it is, or how to fight back.

There are so many things Shiro doesn’t _know._

This is one of them.

 

For the second time in two nights, Hunk’s woken from a sound sleep by a terrified scream.

He jerks awake, flailing in violent surprise and full-on smacking Lance in the face. Lance grunts, startled; Hunk windmills right off Lance’s bed, hitting the floor with a startled thump and taking all the blankets with him. Above him on the bed Lance swears.

Hunk rubs his head, disoriented and groaning. He’d fallen asleep on Lance’s bed after helping him sort through all the new purchases - right? They’d fallen asleep sometime past when Keith had taken his new pajamas and left - Hunk had stayed to help sort - and then - and then -

A second scream rises in the air outside Lance’s room, a terrified wail that this time chokes off into miserable sobbing. Before Hunk can even so much as sit up, footsteps race down the hall outside. A red blur zips across the open space where Lance had left his door ajar, there and then gone.

It’s a solid minute before Lance and Hunk untangle themselves from the blankets and race out into the hall. Shiro’s room isn’t far. By the time they skid to a halt in the doorway, Keith’s already sitting on Shiro’s bed, one leg tucked under him, the other firm on the floor. Shiro is gathered tightly up in Keith’s arms and clinging with his single hand to Keith’s jacket, sobbing into Keith’s shoulder. Shiro’s blanket is twisted impossibly, the two pillows crumpled, the new crystal nightlight tipped over and dull on the floor.

“Oh,” Hunk breathes. Lance knocks into his shoulder, the two of them frozen in the doorway.

“It’s okay,” Keith murmurs, his cheek pressed to the top of Shiro’s head. Shiro’s crying so hard his shoulders are shaking, trembling with the force of his terror. “Just a dream. You’re okay, Shiro. You’re alright.”

Shiro sobs something unintelligible into Keith’s shirt.

“I know,” Keith says, quietly. “You’re safe now. Nothing’s going to hurt you here. I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you.”

Next to Hunk Lance shifts, taking a half-step into the room. Keith’s head jerks up. He stares at them. Lance and Hunk stare back. In that moment something unspoken passes between the three of them: a wordless exchange of camaraderie, of compassion, of bitterly quiet understanding.

“What is going on?” asks another voice.

Lance pulls away from the doorframe, turning; Hunk whirls, startled. Allura stands at the end of the hall, right at the junction where the corridor splits off to her and Coran’s quarters. Her robe is hastily wrapped around her, her hair braided and trailing down over one shoulder. Two of the mice - Plachu and Platt - ride on her shoulders, squeaking in equal confusion and worry.

“I heard screaming,” Allura says, as she approaches. “Is everything alright?”

“Shiro had a nightmare,” Lance offers quietly, meeting her a few steps down the hall. He keeps his voice down, standing between Allura and the open door. Hunk checks again. Inside the room Keith’s already turned back to Shiro, rocking him ever so slightly, murmuring low.

Great. Keith can handle Shiro. Hunk and Lance will deter Allura.

“We’re fine, Allura,” Lance adds, as Hunk joins him shoulder to shoulder. “Sorry we woke you.”

“It’s quite alright,” Allura says. Chuchule and Chulatt squeak at her ankles, concerned and curious. Allura’s eyes flicker around the two paladins toward the open door. “Is he -?”

“Keith’s got him,” Hunk explains. Shiro’s sobs drift through the door, pitched and desperate, overlapped with Keith’s quiet voice. “You can go back to sleep, Princess. Lance is right, everything’s fine.”

Allura hesitates. The hall’s lights reflect careful blue in the worried furrow of her chin.

“I did not know Shiro suffered from night terrors,” she says. Her voice is full of a heavy sorrow. “Is this common for earth children, too?”

That’s….not at all what Hunk expected. Some of the defensive tension falls from Lance’s shoulders. “Do Alteans?”

Allura nods, slowly.

“Sometimes,” she admits. She folds her hands together, delicate fingers tucked into one another as she wrings them absently. “But not often, and they can be rare. I did not want to - that is - there is much about your people I do not understand. I did not want to assume.”

Oh. _Oh._

“We get nightmares sometimes too,” Lance offers before Hunk can, shrugging one careful shoulder. Though he still stands between Allura and Shiro’s open door, most of Lance’s tense protectiveness has faded, his posture shifting into one more relaxed and easy. Open. His words are sincere; given reason and understanding, Lance has always been quick to forgive. “I guess they can be kind of common.”

“Like this?” Allura asks, tentatively. Chuchule and Chulatt creep along the floor, edging around Hunk’s ankles, and disappear into Shiro’s room.

Allura’s trying. The least Hunk can do is meet her halfway.

“Shiro’s been through a lot,” Hunk summarizes. Lance nods, nudging his shoulder gratefully.

“He has,” Allura agrees. Plachu skitters off her shoulder and down to the floor; Platt follows less gracefully. The two of them peek in through the doorway beyond Hunk’s feet. “I know he struggles with sleeping sometimes. I had wondered if perhaps the regression might allow him a chance to overcome that. I can see now I was wrong here, too.”

“Shiro doesn’t sleep?” Hunk asks, stunned. Something tickles over his bare feet; he jerks his foot out of the way as Platt and Plachu scramble over his toes, ducking inside the room too. “Hey!”

Allura blinks, caught off guard. “I’m sure he does - no, of course he must. But I have run into him around the Castle on many occasions during your regular sleeping hours, and - I - ”

She pauses, taking in their expressions. Hunk’s aware he’s staring, incredulous confusion blooming, but can’t bring himself toward any other sort of emotion beyond horrified shock. Next to him Lance’s jaw has dropped open, equally alarmed. Allura’s brow furrows in apology. “I’m so sorry. I thought perhaps it was a cultural distinction? Or an aspect of his physiology, unique from yours. There are so many different facets to your species. I thought perhaps Shiro just - needed less…”

Allura trails off, staring at the door. The noises from within have quieted somewhat, Keith’s voice intermingled now with the calm squeaking of the mice.

“Shiro never said,” Hunk breathes. “We’re his friends. Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

“You were not awake,” Allura says, quietly. She sighs, shoulders drooping slightly. “I assumed - Altean sleep schedules do not always align with yours. Shiro has told me several stories in the evenings, when just the two of us are awake. Sometimes Coran joins us; not always. Shiro’s spoken about your homeworld. Your customs, some of them. Your geography. Strange food he misses, or his ‘homeland’. His family. Many of the things he did during your standard education. The trouble he used to get into…”

“Little troublemaker,” Lance agrees, fond as he glances back towards the open door.

“Shiro’s told you all this?” Hunk asks, almost to himself. He can’t entirely wrap his mind around it. This – this, more than anything. Shiro went to _Allura_ with this?

It stings. No, more than that: it hurts.

The five of them are supposed to be a team. They’re the ones forming Voltron. They’re the ones sharing ridiculous training exercises, new super weird experiences like new civilizations, new food goo, new giant Robot Cat Lions and life-changing, universe-altering expectations. They’re the ones inside each other’s “headholes” on a _daily basis:_ sharing thoughts, sharing orders and ideas and emotions and even bits of dreams, sometimes. Sometimes the leftover thoughts linger for hours after Voltron’s disbanded. _No more secrets._ That was the rule, right?

Somehow Shiro’s broken that rule – no. Not broken, just shut off.  He’s hid from them even in Voltron, blocking them off and out from his own suffering and never so much as _saying._ All this - all this time, and Shiro’s never said.

They’re supposed to be a team. Why wouldn’t Shiro trust them with this? They could help. Hunk could _help._

Why wouldn’t Shiro trust his own team?

“He likely did not wish to cause concern,” Allura says, softly. Her gaze flits back to the open door.

“Hunk?” Lance says. From the hurt worry in his eyes he’s reached a similar conclusion.

Hunk swallows, still reeling. “Yeah. Sorry. I - just thinking. Shiro’s told you about Earth?”

“Yes.” Allura nods. “His words are a great help to me. The five of you are still quite new to us; I am only just beginning to understand. Shiro - as he is now - he is so young.”

She falters, hands wringing.

“He is,” Lance agrees, softly.

“And so I do not understand,” Allura admits. “At his current age, Altean children would have been fighting the gladiator, even on a low level. Altean children would have more than a handful of languages started, or had their first several trips to the royal court with the supervision of their parents. At his age we were outdoors; we were sledding down the Myleri mountains. We would climb the Tilauron trees, several stories tall - it was a mark of great honor, to reach their highest boughs. It was always a race, even at his age.”

“That sounds really nice,” Hunk says. The lights of the hall pulse, steady and comforting in their eerie shade of blue. The castle hums beneath their feet, engines steady, course strong. A ship sailing through nowhere; a ship with no permanent home.

“It was,” Allura agrees, her gaze distant. She blinks, pulling herself back, her shoulders squaring. “But that is a time long gone. There are no Tilauron trees, anymore, and your human almost-five-years is quite different than ours. I am learning, now, but I am not learning fast enough.”

“It’s not your fault, Princess,” Lance reassures her. “We humans - we don’t grow up that fast, y’know? We’re not climbing giant trees at Shiro’s age. Maybe some of us start taekwondo or something at four years old, but that’s way different.”

Allura tilts her head to the side, sounding out the syllables. “What is tai-kwhan-doe?”

“Martial arts,” Hunk explains for Lance. “Uh - still really tame compared to your gladiator, but Earth kiddos don’t go as hard as you guys. Usually.”

“Ever,” Lance agrees, “but that’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Nobody’s mad at you.”

Allura frowns, her eyes flitting back to the open door. “I fear Keith might be.”

“Keith’s just worried,” Hunk says, soothing. This he can help with. “He’s not taking this all that well either. He and Shiro are really close.”

“I know,” Allura says, and there is a distinct fondness that softens the syllables of her words. “Shiro speaks of him often, especially when telling me about your - Garrison? Is that where you studied?”

“Yeah,” Lance confirms, nodding. “Maybe talk to Keith in the morning, Princess. He’ll understand. You’re not the only one making mistakes here: tonight’s kind of my fault, too.”

“What?” Hunk asks, startled. “Lance, no.”

“Surely not,” Allura starts hastily.

“No, I did,” Lance explains, with a half-hearted shrug. “I thought we could leave him alone tonight. Kids at this age sleep on their own all the time. But I was definitely wrong. I didn’t think.”

“We’re all making mistakes,” Hunk summarizes, knocking his shoulder into Lance’s gently. Lance cracks a smile. “But can we talk about them in the morning? Nothing’s helped by us crowding in the hallway in the middle of the night. If we’re crowding somewhere, let’s crowd in the kitchen. I can make us something hot to drink.”

“Warm space-milk?” Lance asks, snickering.

“Everyone loves warm space-milk,” Hunk insists.

Allura laughs, a gentle huff of air. “You are too kind, Hunk. Is there something I could do that would help Shiro, as he is now? I do not have any desire to make things worse.”

“Nothing dangerous,” Hunk and Lance chorus, immediately.

“If you think it might severely hurt an Altean toddler it’s probably too dangerous,” Lance continues, “Immediate no.”

“Hard stop, do not pass go sort of no,” Hunk agrees, “No offense, but you guys go real hard.”

“You do as well, only quite differently,” Allura replies, with such sincere exasperation Hunk grins sheepishly. “Very well. I shall not suggest anything - dangerous. Is there anything I could do tonight?”

Lance smiles at her, a mixture of compassionate pride and easy understanding. “We’ve got him. Shiro’s going to be fine. He just needs to know right now that there are people here for him. Kids do better if they know someone’s on their side.”

“We all do,” Allura agrees, softly. “I will retire, I think. If you are sure?”

“We’re sure,” Lance and Hunk chorus.

“Then I will talk to Keith in the morning,” Allura says. She turns to go - and then hesitates, one final time.

“I know I am not making decisions you agree with,” she says. Lance and Hunk freeze. Even with all the hours the three of them spent together on the shopping excursion, yesterday’s priorities were quite different, too focused on finding the right supplies or Lance’s perfect plushie. This is a sore point not yet touched.

Down the hall, Shiro’s crying has stopped. The soft murmur of two distinct voices - one quiet and scared, one soft and low - drift out of his room. Allura’s ears twitch; if she can make out the syllables, she does not say.  She swallows. “But if there is - anything I can do - ?”

“We’ll come get you,” Lance says, smiling. “I promise.”

Allura gives them a shaky smile and rounds the corner again, out of sight. When she’s gone Lance lets out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Why does everything have to happen at midnight?” Hunk asks, exhausted.

“Tell me about it,” Lance groans, and peels himself away from the wall and back towards the door.

 

Shiro’s calmer now. Keith’s more fully on the bed, both legs criss-crossed beneath him with Shiro in his lap. All four of the mice are on the bed as well, curled on the pillows or perched on Shiro’s knees. Shiro’s shoulders tremble only with the shaky rise and fall of panicked breaths, a slow but definite calming down.

Standing in the doorway, watching Shiro’s little form shake and recover from his second nightmare in two nights, all of Hunk’s hurt and anger falls uselessly away.

Hunk has no right to be mad that Shiro’s kept secrets, not after what Shiro’s been through. It isn’t Hunk’s place to pry. It isn’t his place to insist on answers Shiro might not be ready to give, or even have. Shiro doesn’t deserve whatever hurt him. What he’s been through doesn’t matter to Hunk. It can’t. What matters is _Shiro,_ small and suffering with a burden far too big for him – no. Shiro’s size isn’t important. What matters is Shiro: Hunk’s teammate. What matters is Shiro: Hunk’s friend.

Hunk’s family.

And Hunk is not going to stand by and let him suffer in silence any longer.

Keith glances up when their shadows fall across the doorway. Shiro doesn’t. Lance points at himself and then at Hunk, then jerks his thumb towards the hall in a clear question.

_Should we go?_

Keith considers, looking down at the crown of Shiro’s head for a moment, then nods.

 _Sorry,_ he mouths.

Fine. Perfect. Hunk isn’t surprised by this, either. Lance excels with kids; Keith excels with Shiro. The two of them share a history and an unspoken language deeper than any gesture-code Hunk and Lance could ever come up with. Keith speaks Shiro’s language - even like this. If it’s Keith Shiro needs in this moment, then it’s Keith Shiro will have. Hunk’s not going to stand in the way.

Hunk shoots Keith a thumbs up. Lance shoots Keith two brilliant finger-guns and backs out of the doorway. Keith rolls his eyes; Hunk grins and ducks out, too.

They leave Shiro’s door open, this time. Lance and Hunk tiptoe down the hall back to Lance’s room, closing their own door almost-not-quite all the way, just in case.

“What a night,” Lance groans, flopping immediately onto the bed.

“Seriously,” Hunk agrees, bending to pick up the blankets.

Lance sprawls over the entire mattress, spread-eagled and boneless. After a moment he tilts his head to the side, squinting in Hunk’s direction. “Hey. Did you know Shiro doesn’t sleep?”

“No,” Hunk says, sitting down on the bed next to Lance. “But Keith’s got him, now. We’ll check on him in a bit.”

“Yeah." Lance lets his head fall back onto the mattress with a sigh. Hunk gathers all the blankets into his lap. Lance grunts. “You staying?”

“Only if you make room,” Hunk says, and tosses half of the blankets over to his friend.

No, Hunk isn’t mad that Shiro’s been keeping secrets. Hunk isn’t mad at whatever hurts Shiro’s been through. What Hunk can do is help Shiro, in the here-and-now, and make absolutely sure that whatever-it-is never hurts Shiro ever again. That’s what a team is for.

That’s what _family_ is for.

And Hunk’s absolutely going to be here for his.

 

Keith brings Shiro to the breakfast table the next morning, settling Shiro easily onto his new booster seat (an actual, authentic booster Lance had spotted during yesterday’s shopping - a far cry better than a stack of manuals). Allura is absent again. There’s a note from Coran saying he’d eaten, but there’s no sign of Pidge. Her silence isn’t entirely worrisome; she probably just forgot that eating is something normal people do. Again. Hunk will take her something later.

“Were you up all night?” Hunk asks Keith as Lance dishes Shiro up a hearty bowl of space-oatmeal. It’s easy enough to pull Keith aside and keep their voices low. Shiro’s more than distracted, half-facing away from them as Lance reveals the bowl heaped high with purple starberries.“Did you get any sleep?”

“Some,” Keith admits. The shadows under his eyes betray him. “He fell asleep a bit after you guys left. Sorry you couldn’t stay, it was just easier.”

“Dude, no,” Hunk hastens to reassure him. “Don’t apologize. We get it. Did he tell you what the nightmare was about?”

On the other side of the table Lance sprinkles even more starberries on top of Shiro’s oatmeal. Shiro picks up the sweet little fruits easily, happily - if messily - stuffing them in his mouth with his bare hand. The rest of his breakfast remains completely untouched.

Keith’s eyes are distant as he watches, thoughtful and somewhat...not all there.

“Keith,” Hunk says, waving his hand in front of Keith’s face. “Earth to Keith? Hellooooo.”

Keith blinks, coming back to himself. “Sorry.” He swallows, forcing his gaze away from Shiro. “Yeah. He did tell me, at least parts of it. It’s not - it’s not good.”

Hunk stills, his frown deepening.  A cold dread settles in his chest. “Not good? Not good how? Like: ‘it could be worse’ not good, or ‘really really bad’ not good?”

“Not good,” Keith repeats. He shakes his head, searching for the right words. “He said there was a lot of purple, everywhere. Like light. And he said - in his dream - that he saw a man, lying on a table. I think the man was tied down; Shiro said he couldn’t move. And he said that the aliens were leaning over this person, and the man was shouting, but they wouldn’t let him go.”

Hunk swallows, mind racing. “Do you think - was it a memory or something?”

“Oh, I’m sure it was.” Keith’s gaze travels across the room to Shiro. Keith’s shoulders tense; he visibly forces himself to relax. “After what just happened to him with -”

“The Nafralians,” Hunk says, before Keith can finish. Keith turns back to him so quickly Hunk’s kind of afraid Keith’s going to give himself whiplash. Hunk fidgets. “Shiro kind of had a nightmare the other night, too. Not last night. The one before.”

Keith stares, shocked. “He did _what?”_

“It was fine, we talked him down,” Hunk adds hastily, hands open and placating. “Lance and I had him. But - same thing? He told us there was a lot of purple and it was really dark. No weird man-on-table, but - he also said he couldn’t move. The Nafralian lab...?”

Both of them still for a moment, quiet. Hunk’s mind swings back to that horrific scene. The hole in the roof, from whatever that strong purple beam had been. The table in the middle of the room, straps dangling. The robed aliens, stealing Shiro’s arm. Hunk shudders.

“I don’t know,” Keith admits. “But I don’t like it.”

“Man, you and me both,” Hunk agrees vehemently. “Maybe Shiro could describe the aliens in his dream? Just in case.”

“No,” Keith says, “and I’m not asking.”

Across the way Lance has finally - wisely - pulled the bowl of starberries out of reach, handing Shiro a spork instead. Shiro takes the utensil easily enough and sets to work making mountains out of his space-oatmeal. On the table, Chulatt and Chuchule are busy building a mountain out of their own bodies by climbing on top of Plachu, who staggers under all the weight. Platt’s trying to steal bites from Shiro’s bowl.

“Poor Shiro,” Hunk says, quietly. The mountain of mice topples; Shiro laughs, the sound bright and earnest. “This is a lot for our little guy.”

Keith doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Lance shoos the mice away with a wave of his hand, meeting Keith and Hunk’s eyes across the room. He cocks a quizzical eyebrow. Hunk signals back with two blinks and a thumb of his nose: _all is well._

Lance nods, a slight jerk of his chin and then a scratch at his eyebrow: _Be there in a minute._

“There’s something else,” Keith says. Hunk turns back, surprised. Keith’s words are slow and weighted. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday. Whatever we do with Shiro today, we can’t take him down to Pidge.”

That’s not what Hunk expected at all. “What? Why?”

“We were down there yesterday,” Keith explains. “Pidge was measuring Shiro for his new arm and it triggered something. He - look, it’s probably going to sound weird, but -”

“Did his eyes turn bright yellow and glowy?” Hunk blurts.

The second the words leave his mouth Hunk viciously regrets them. Keith’s jaw drops. Of course he’s going to think Hunk’s crazy. Of course he’s not going to take it well. Of course it looks like Hunk’s insinuating weird stuff about Keith’s _best friend._

 _Mistake, mistake!_ Hunk backtracks hastily, scrambling. “I mean -”

 _“Yes,”_ Keith says, so completely catching Hunk off guard that he freezes mid-stammer. “How did you know?”

“Oh my god,” Hunk yelps. It’s all he can manage. Keith’s staring at him; Hunk gapes back, blindsided. “I - holy quiznack, he did that with me two days ago. When I was helping him into the old sweater? He didn’t remember his scars at all. They scared him -”

“- and it triggered whatever this is,” Keith finishes for him, on a horrified exhale. “Glowing?”

“Glowing,” Hunk confirms. He shudders. “It wasn’t long, just a couple of seconds. You?”

Keith grits his teeth. “Long.”

Aw, quiznack.

A burst of laughter breaks the silence; Hunk turns over his shoulder. Lance has picked up three of the mice and is literally juggling them from hand to hand, Chuchule doing flips in mid-air. Platt’s edging for Shiro’s breakfast bowl. Shiro’s laughing; Lance’s face is a goofy mask of concentration, except for the double-eyebrow raise, three-nostril flare he sends in Hunk’s direction. _What are you guys doing?!_

Hunk half-jerks his head in a left tilt, tugging at his bangs. _You’d better get over here._

In response Lance blinks rapidly three times - _give me a second -_ and catches Chuchule in one hand, Plachu in the other, and Chulatt on his head. The mice strike triumphant poses. All four of them pant, out of breath.

“Again!” Shiro shrieks, delighted. Platt peeks over the edge of his bowl. “Again!”

“What are we going to do?” Hunk asks, voice low.

“We can’t take him down to Pidge,” Keith reinforces. “Not until the arm’s done. I don’t want to risk this happening again.”

“How are we going to get the arm on him?” Hunk whispers, horrified.

Keith shakes his head. Lance sets the mice down, ruffling Shiro’s hair fondly before stepping away. Shiro peeks around the edge of his chair; Hunk plasters a smile on his face and waves, a brief waggle of fingers. Shiro waves back immediately - sending bits of space-oatmeal flying off the spork in his hand - and cheerfully returns to his breakfast, chattering to the mice. Chulatt waves their paws at the other two, energetically miming being tossed in the air; Chuchule nods eagerly in approval, jerking their head towards Platt. Platt squeaks in alarm.

“He needs that arm,” Keith says, quietly. “I don’t know.”

“You guys are not quiet,” Lance hisses when he reaches them. Shiro peeks at them again, then wiggles right for the bowl of starberries the second the coast is clear. Platt ducks under his arm and away from the other mice, hiding. “You’re lucky the mice would juggle, oh my god. What were you yelling about?”

“Did Shiro notice?” Keith asks, immediately.

“He’s small, he’s easily distracted,” Lance says dismissively. “Keith, woah. Did you sleep at all?”

“Yes,” Keith says, shortly. “Hunk was just saying -”

“Keith was telling me about Shiro’s nightmare,” Hunk interjects, overtop. “The one he had last night. And also apparently yesterday Shiro did the glowy-eye-thing with Keith and Pidge.”

Lance gapes, shocked. “He did _what?_ Has everyone seen it but me?”

Hunk pats him on the shoulder. “Looks like it.”

“It’s not something to be proud of,” Keith says, sharp.

“I’m not saying it is,” Lance corrects, hastily. “I’m just - what does it mean? Shiro’s never done this before, right? The glowy-eye…thing? He didn’t do that back at the Garrison.”

Keith sighs. “Of course he didn’t, Lance.”

“Just checking, just checking,” Lance says, and then squints suspiciously. “Or - since the Galra -?”

“Shh,” Keith insists urgently. The three of them glance over, but Shiro’s busy feeding his space-oatmeal to Platt, while the other three mice attempt to juggle themselves via flips and cartwheels across the table. Lance’s shoulders slump in relief. Keith lowers his voice. “The eyes are new.”

“Do you think Allura or Coran would know?” Hunk asks, tentatively.

Keith’s expression hardens immediately. “We’re not asking.”

“Hey, hang on, we had a great chat with Allura in the hallway last night,” Lance says, “She came to check on Shiro last night, too. She’s having just a rough time as the rest of us. Maybe cut her some slack.”

“She tried to put him with the _gladiator,”_ Keith snaps. “Did you forget?”

“She didn’t know, man,” Hunk says.

“She wants to talk to you later today,” Lance adds. “If Hunk and I took Shiro, d’you think you could do that?”

Keith frowns. “I don’t -”

“You don’t have to tell her anything about the eyes or the glowing,” Lance cuts in, over Keith’s protests. “Even though that’s definitely an alien thing, yeah? Maybe she’d know. That’s all I’m saying. Pool our resources, figure this out a little faster. What if it helps?”

Keith hesitates. Across the room Shiro’s now feeding Chuchule and Chulatt too, Platt stretching all the way up onto tiptoe for better access to the bowl.

“I’m going to take Pidge something to eat first,” Keith says instead. Lance draws breath, but Keith isn’t done. “Then I’ll talk to Allura, but I’m not telling her about the eyes. Not yet.”

Lance glances at Hunk for support. Hunk scratches his eyebrow, tugs at his earlobe. _Good enough._

“It’s a start,” Lance agrees out loud. “You do that. Hunk and I will hang out with Shiro this morning.”

 _“You’ll_ hang out with Shiro this morning,” Hunk corrects, immediately. “I gotta fix the pod from yesterday.”

“Can you take a look at Shiro’s nightlight, too?” Keith asks. “It fell off the nightstand last night and cracked. I can’t figure out how to turn it back on.”

Hunk nods. “Sure thing. I’ll go get it from his room on my way down.”

Lance snaps his fingers with the pride of a plan well set. “Then I’ll take care of Shiro.”

“Don’t take him to Pidge,” Keith warns.

“Don’t take him to the Lions,” Hunk adds, right over the top of him.

“Don’t take him anywhere,” Keith summarizes.

“Hey,” Lance protests, mock-offended. “I know what I’m doing, I got this! The Lanceinator’s on the job!”

Shiro pokes his head over the back of his chair. Just his eyes are visible above the curve of the chair, peeping at the three of them.

“I’m done,” he calls, plaintively. Platt flops full-length on the table behind him, stomach bulging. “Can we play now?”

“You bet we can,” Lance declares, and swoops right over with entirely too much energy for this hour of the morning. Keith and Hunk follow. “Keith and Hunk are going to go do Boring Things, but you and I? We’ve got _plans_.”

“Plans?” Shiro gasps, delighted.

“Plans,” Lance confirms, and scoops Shiro up from his booster-seat. “You ready?”

“Yes!” Shiro cries, and cheers as Lance carries him triumphantly from the dining room, singing a military fanfare as they go. Chulatt and Chuchule run down the legs of the table after them; Plachu stays behind, poking Platt who’s snoring on the table by Shiro’s empty bowl.

“Shiro didn’t eat a single bite of this, did he,” Hunk asks weakly, picking up the bowl. Plachu shakes their head, flicking their tail in a scolding fashion. “I thought this was way better than space goo. Does he not like my cooking?”

“He’s not even five,” Keith reassures him, dishing up a bowl for himself and a second one for Pidge. The bowl of starberries is nearly empty, save for one perfect purple fruit in the bottom. “Nice of him to save us some.”

Platt burps.

“Plenty more in the kitchen,” Hunk says, and sets his own bowl down to fetch some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked what you read, please consider leaving me a comment! Comments seriously make my day <3 I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of you. Thanks for reading!
> 
> My shameless headcanon about Shiro's Garrison antics can be found [here.](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com/post/159417546999/butteredonions-butteredonions-so-i-was) :)
> 
> I've been so blessed (again!!) to receive some truly SPECTACULAR ART inspired by this story. Please click through and give these artists all the love! (If you've drawn art for our favorite Smol in the last few months and aren't linked here, please let me know!!)
> 
> [grumpy smol!Shiro](http://phantasmagoric-rei.tumblr.com/post/160420760615/hey-so-im-in-love-with-butteredonions-fic-the) \- from [phantasmagoric-rei](http://phantasmagoric-rei.tumblr.com) \- eeeeeeee I love how grumpy he is!  
> [sleeping smol!Shiro](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/160037126510/ohhhhh-shiro-and-3n-please-bonus-points-if-he) \- from my good friend [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com) \- I know he is not technically my smol ( ;) ) but this is SO CUTE I HAD TO  
> [stunning innocent smol!Shiro](https://svedverite.tumblr.com/post/158554711123/for-more-practice-with-clothes-atmosphere-etc) \- from the amazing [svedverite](http://svedverite.tumblr.com). This is truly so utterly breathtaking. I cannot stop staring at it. Thank you thank you thank you for sharing your talent!!
> 
> As always, please feel free to follow or say hi on my [tumblr!](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) That's the first place new work is likely to appear. ;) Come yell.
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you soon.........


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes participate in the Ancient and Most Noble Game of Hide and Seek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! One week later!! With summer coming, I'm doing my best to get on a regular update schedule...we'll see how that goes. :)
> 
> Thanks so much to [ashinan](http://ashinan.tumblr.com) for the beta'ing job, as always. And for holding my hand through this one - I threw some doozies at her, but she carried me through with accuracy and aplomb. Thank you for giving me your time this week, my friend - I couldn't do this without you. <3
> 
> I'm using the mice a lot more since they've gained wonderful names. Again, you can consult [this reference](https://twitter.com/Voltron/status/852914357977497602) for who's who if you're confused! Lastly, please bear in mind - this is probably one of the cutest things I've ever written. :') It's also the longest chapter I've written for this fic, clocking in at just around 10k. Get comfy, and enjoy!

“What else do you want to do today?” Lance asks, halfway through the morning. He and Shiro have taken over one of the secondary lounges completely, tipping all the couches and cushions over in a rough approximation of an obstacle course. The mice even helped, setting up and waving victory flags at the room’s opposite end. 

It’s been a terrific morning. Shiro beams down at Lance from where he’s seated firmly in the middle of the ‘goal’, a mountain of cushions stacked nearly taller than Lance’s head. “I get to pick? Really?”

“Really,” Lance says, leaning on a lower cushion and propping his chin on his hand. “Tell me your heart’s desire, Oh Mighty Shiro!”

Shiro’s face lights up with hope. “Can we play hide and seek?”

The epic disaster of yesterday scuttles across Lance’s memory. Hours of searching, made worse by the minute - the uncertainty _alone,_ not to mention Keith’s fear? Hunk’s anxiety, Allura’s worry - 

“I don’t think so,” Lance says. The choice is way easy. “Pick again.”

Shiro’s face falls slightly. He keeps it together, kicking little feet against the mountain of cushions. “Why not? There’s so much castle to see.”

“We can go exploring if you want,” Lance starts.

“I had fun yesterday,” Shiro continues, pestering. He tilts his head to the side, scrunching his nose as he thinks. “Eventually. Kind of. Mister Coran was nice.”

“He is,” Lance agrees, grinning. “It’s a good thing he found you.”

“Yep,” Shiro confirms happily. “You’d find me too. Can we? Please?”

His utter confidence in the statement takes Lance’s breath away. Lance - despite himself, despite the absolute misery that yesterday was - 

Lance hesitates.

“Please?” Shiro asks again. He’s looking down at Lance now with such sad eyes, wide and imploring. “We don’t have to go far. Or play for very long. Just a little. Please?”

Well, quiznack. Those _eyes -_

No. Nope, no way. Keith would kill him. _Hunk_ would kill him. Lance has to be strong.

“I really don’t think so,” Lance manages with a supreme effort of will, holding out his hands invitingly. “What if we went and colored instead? Hunk and I got some a-ma-zing books yesterday. I bet you’ve never seen these animals before.”

“I guess,” Shiro says, doubtfully, but he lets Lance pick him up.

The lounge is enough of a mess that they detour to the dining room, spreading out the huge pages of the coloring panels and a wide array of materials across the table. The pages are wonderful, each one easily larger than the breadth of Shiro’s small shoulders. Lance is going to call the thin sticks of writing utensils ‘crayons’ even if they’re not wrapped in bright paper, even if they’re weird colors and all. Lance tested them. They’ll be fine. The texture’s a little odd, but their triangular shapes mean they won’t roll off the table, so Lance definitely counts this as a win.

The crayons are a victory, as are the enormous coloring pages. What isn’t a victory is Shiro.

To his credit, Shiro is determined to do a good job. His forehead is furrowed, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he focuses with fierce concentration on maneuvering the crayons with his left hand. Despite all his best intentions, despite how hard he’s working and his tight grip on the crayon, the uncoordinated reflexes of his non-dominant hand neatly undermine every single one of his efforts. 

The colors are sloppy, well outside the lines no matter what Shiro tries. Slowing down doesn’t help. Changing his grip doesn’t help. Shifting how he sits or the angle from which he works does absolutely nothing. It’s clear from the way Shiro’s face falls further and further with each color he tries that he’s rapidly losing patience with what was supposed to be a fun, easy distraction.

Shiro doesn’t complain for a while, just picks up another crayon and grips it tighter. Finally he jerks his crayon a little too hard trying to get a tough edge of the seven-winged-bird-thing’s beak. He catches himself as he overbalances, using the stump of his right arm to brace himself against the table, but the damage is done. The orange crayon sails neatly off to the side and out of the lines like so many before it, and this time Shiro’s definitely had enough.

“I can’t do it,” Shiro cries. “Lance, I _can’t.”_

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Lance suggests. Shiro’s picked semi-realistic colors for his not-a-bird, and even if they’re outside the lines, the - uh - the potential’s there. Totally. Lance hastily drags his own crayon outside the lines of his maybe-aoxoltl. “See? Mine’s not. Yours looks great!”

“But it’s not _right,”_ Shiro insists, shaking his head in frustrated misery. He grips the useless orange crayon awkwardly in his left hand, staring down at his only set of fingers in complete betrayal. His right arm - what remains of it - jerks in an aborted gesture. “Why can’t I do this? Why don’t I know how?”

“Hey, hey,” Lance interrupts. Shiro looks up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “You know what? This is fine. I’ve never liked coloring anyway. Not for everyone. What do you say we switch gears, okay?”

“To do what?” Shiro asks. He’s not crying, but only barely. His voice is so small. He’s a despondent little picture on the other side of the table, lower lip wobbling as he clutches his hopeless orange crayon and still trying, so hard, to do _right._

Lance caves.

“I’ll play one game of hide-and-go-seek with you,” he says. The delighted grin that lights up Shiro’s face - the hopeful pure glee that chases away every ounce of self-frustrated anger - is totally worth the disaster Lance is pretty sure he’s just set himself up for.

“Really?” Shiro squeaks, sitting straight up.

“Really. But there are _rules,”_ Lance adds hastily, over Shiro’s happy squeal, and begins to explain.

It’ll be fine. He found Shiro last time, right? It all worked out in the end.

How bad could this be?

Hunk hums to himself as he works, blasting weird Altean music out of the busted pod’s speakers. The speaker system isn’t the issue; he’s fixing one of the side panels instead, dinged up by some careless alien in the parking bay yesterday. The scrape is relatively easy to bang out from the inside. What’s taking the most time is the damage to the wires and gears within. A short flight back had been fine, but Hunk’s not sending this pod out into deep space with a wonky stabilizer. His stomach rolls just thinking about it. No way. Hunk is not doing that flight again. 

The music settles on a softer part, more suited to intense focus. Hunk strips wires, patches them carefully together as he matches slim alien wire to thicker alien wire, thickest one to thin. The pattern took some getting used to, but it’s easy enough to remember. The sheer diversity of ship’s and engineering languages Hunk’s learned to maneuver and fiddle with since leaving Earth is kind of mind-boggling, if he stops to translate or think about it. Most of the time his brain and his hands just - do the work. It’s not easy, but it’s clear. The languages are all the same at heart: power source, pipelines, fuel lines, aerodynamics, propulsion, anti-gravity thrusters and gravity simulators…

Hunk’s so caught up in the work and the music that he completely misses the patter of little feet behind him. He’s head-deep in the control panel of the pod now, fiddling with the smoother-plated wires, utterly absorbed.

“Hi,” says Shiro.

Hunk jumps so badly he hits his head on the pod’s interior. He may or may not shriek like a small child. 

….like a smaller child than the one grinning up at him.

_“Shiro!”_ Hunk yelps, pulling his head out and nursing the enormous lump that’s surely going to appear on the back of his head. Shiro grins up at him, slightly sheepish. “Where did you come from?!”

“The door,” Shiro explains like it’s obvious. He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other, tilting his head contritely as Hunk bites down on his lip to keep from swearing. “Did I scare you? Are you hurt?”

“No - no, it’s fine,” Hunk protests, carefully probing the sore spot on the back of his skull. Just a lump, if anything, and it isn’t bleeding. Hunk fumbles among the wrenches floating on the anti-grav table and grabs the music remote, thumbing the speakers off as Shiro scoots closer, curious. “How did you get down here? Where’s Lance?”

Shiro stands on tiptoes, peering at the table’s contents. “Lance and I are playing.”

…..uh. “Playing what?”

Shiro’s eyes gleam with a positively wicked glint. “Hide’n’seek.”

“Lance agreed to this?” Hunk blurts, surprised. 

Shiro nods, pointing at the biggest wrench on Hunk’s table. “What’s that do?”

“Helps me open the panel to get to the innards,” Hunk replies automatically. Ohhh boy. “Shiro, are you supposed to be hiding or seeking?”

Shiro doesn’t falter. The look he beams up at Hunk is the picture of perfect innocence. “Lance didn’t say I had to _stay_ in one place.”

This is a _hot mess._

“Shiro,” Hunk says, slowly. “Does Lance know you’re down here?”

Shiro grins at him, sheepish and perfectly sly at exactly the same time. “I’m a good hider.”

“That’s not a good reason to ditch him,” Hunk exclaims. “Shiro, Lance is probably upstairs super worried about you right now. Where were you supposed to hide? Did he give you any limits, like - stay on one floor, don’t leave this hall? Anything?”

Shiro shakes his head, wide-eyed.

_“Lance,”_ Hunk groans. 

“He’ll find me eventually,” Shiro says, patting Hunk’s arm reassuringly. “Mister Coran has cameras. Can I see the ship’s ‘innards’? What are you working on?”

Hunk gives up. At least Shiro’s safe down here; at least here Hunk can keep him occupied and not running off again. Lance’ll figure it out eventually.  “I’m fixing the stabilizer. It got dinged yesterday and I don’t want anyone else to fly it until I’m sure all the - uh, all the wings are working.”

“Did it overbalance?” Shiro asks, scooting over to peer at the panel with Hunk. “Like - shoooom?”

He gestures with his left hand, nearly sending himself toppling over again with no weight balancing on his right side. Hunk catches him easily enough. “Kind of. The stabilizer on the left’s working so we were still fine coming back, but I don’t want this to go long-distance.”

“Is it an easy fix?” Shiro asks, as Hunk sets him back on his feet. “Could Pidge build the ship a new wing, too?”

“It is, and it doesn’t need that,” Hunk says patiently. “I’m almost done.”

Shiro sighs wistfully, rocking back on his heels. “I wish _I_ had two working arms.”

Nuh uh. Nope. Not going down that road. Shiro’s going through enough. 

“Give Pidge a chance,” Hunk says, instead. “I’m going to look at the fuel propulsion next while I’m in here already. Still wanna see those innards until Lance gets over his heart attack and figures out you’re missing again?”

“Yes,” Shiro exclaims, and presses up against Hunk on tiptoes to see.

Lance finds them eventually of course, bursting into the hangar with sheer panic on his frantic face. _“Shiro!”_

“Lance!” Shiro cries, delighted, from where he’s now perched on Hunk’s shoulders. Lance bolts over to the pod, nearly flailing as he windmills to a halt. “That took forever! Did you have a heart attack?”

“Yeah, Lance,” Hunk teases immediately, unable to resist. Losing Shiro yesterday had been awful, sure, but Hunk’s also uncannily reminded of just two days ago when it’d been _Lance_ off with Shiro and _Hunk_ doing the desperate hunting. Hunk has no guilt about this moment whatsoever. “What took you so long? You nearly missed all the super cool innards.”

“So cool,” Shiro agrees, leaning his chin on top of Hunk’s head happily. “Lance, look at - what is this?”

He tugs on Hunk’s hair ribbon ever so gently. Hunk grins. “Shield generator.”

“Shield generator,” Shiro repeats, beaming down at Lance. “Lance, look!”

“What the quiznack,” Lance gasps, bent over with hands on knees as he heaves for breath. “What the quiznack, Shiro! When I said we could play a few rounds this is _not what I meant!”_

“You said hide-and- _go_ seek,” Shiro says, patiently.

Hunk can’t hold back his guffaw. 

“Shut up,” Lance groans, whacking Hunk’s arm good-naturedly. 

“Nope, you deserve every part of this,” Hunk informs him, cackling. Shiro preens on his shoulders, immensely pleased. “Does Keith know? You’re gonna be in such -”

“He doesn’t, because Shiro and I are going straight back upstairs _right now,”_ Lance says. “C’mon, Shiro. Leave Hunk alone, let’s go.”

“Awww,” Shiro pouts, but acquiesces. Hunk bends his knees obligingly, squatting a bit so Lance can pluck Shiro off Hunk’s shoulders easily. “Bye, Hunk. Thanks for showing me the innards.”

“Come back anytime,” Hunk says, pleasantly.

Shiro waves at him over Lance’s shoulder as Lance carries him out, still grumbling. Hunk grins, returning to his work with a satisfied hum.

Some things never change.

Unfortunately for Lance it’s too little, too late. By the time Lance gets Shiro back to the lounge, Keith’s there, all four of the mice squeaking around his ankles and the backs of the still-tipped-over couches.

“I don’t understand how you let him out of your sight,” Keith hisses, reaching for Shiro immediately. 

“He’s fast, okay,” Lance counters, setting Shiro down instead. Shiro’s boundless with his energy and not a bit deterred by the long hike down to Hunk’s lab. He races right back for the mountain of cushions. The mice abandon Keith to join him. “Not to mention sneaky. It just kind of happened. Where were you? It’s been hours.”

“Talking to Allura,” Keith says. 

“Ohhhh, did you now,” Lance says, quirking a smug eyebrow. “What’d she say?”

Keith glares at him wordlessly. Lance quirks the other eyebrow expectantly. Shiro launches himself at the cushion mountain.

“Oh-kay then,” Lance says, at length. Cushions scatter everywhere, but the mountain holds; Shiro’s shriek of laughter fills the room. “Great talk we had there. Good feelings. Nice to know -”

“Seriously?” Keith interrupts, rolling his eyes. The mountain’s still intact despite Shiro’s bellyflop; Shiro clambers up it eagerly, tackling it surprisingly well for only having one arm and a stump. The mice scurry up with him, squeaking with excitement as they race. “There was nothing else you could’ve done with Shiro? Couldn’t you have - I don’t know - colored or something?”

Oh hell no. “Don’t you dare,” Lance warns, low.

Keith frowns. “What, did you not find any good coloring books yesterday either? We’re not going to find Earth animals in space, Lance.“

“Of course we couldn’t - that’s not the point!” Lance sputters. He grabs Keith’s elbow and yanks him a step away, hopefully out of earshot. Shiro’s still climbing the cushion mountain, chattering eagerly with the mice as they squeak back at him. “Shiro’s _right-handed.”_

“I know that,” Keith starts.

“Okay, well, I didn’t,” Lance says. “How do you think coloring went?”

Horrified realization ripples across Keith’s face. His eyes flicker to Shiro, just now pulling himself up onto the top of the teetering mountain. Any other time Lance might revel in getting one up on Keith, but he can’t fathom gloating about this one. Lance mocks Keith for a great deal of things, sometimes, but this?

Never this. Never about Shiro.

“Quiznack,” Keith breathes. 

“Y-e-ah,” Lance drawls.

Keith shakes his head, visibly drawing himself together. “Hide and seek, though? After yesterday?”

“We had a great few games until he went rogue, okay,” Lance says, following Keith back toward the cushion mountain.

Keith shrugs. “You probably just didn’t give him enough boundaries. He’ll stay within limits if you lay them out clearly.”

Lance scoffs. “Like you could do any better.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“Is Keith going to play with us, too?” Shiro asks. He’s perched exactly on the top of the mountain, the mice scrambling up after him. He giggles as Chuchule clambers into his lap. Platt tips onto their back on the second-highest cushion, exhausted.

“No,” Keith says, “We’re going to do something else.”

Shiro pouts. “Awww. I wanted to see if you could find me faster than Lance.”

“Wh- no,” Keith says, alarmed. Lance sputters. “We’re not -”

“Lance was really fast until I went and found Hunk,” Shiro interrupts, kicking his heels against the cushions. “Are you _sure_ you couldn’t be faster?”

Keith startles, taken aback. “Of course I’d be faster -”

“I’ll listen to every one of your rules,” Shiro offers, quick. Chuchule squeaks in approval, clasping tiny paws together. Plachu glares a warning. “I won’t go somewhere I haven’t been. Lance can help you if you get stuck.”

Keith blinks, offended. “I don’t need Lance’s help!”

“Then can we?” Shiro asks, so hopeful. “Can we play?”

Keith hesitates.

“Don’t do it,” Lance hisses, “Keith, no.”

“Please?”  Shiro asks, and his eyes grow very big and very earnest. Wide, imploring and just the tiniest bit sad.

To his credit Keith resists, somehow summoning the strength to hold firm. He really does make a valiant effort, squaring his shoulders, tilting up his chin. “We’re not playing hide and seek, Shiro.”

“I’ll eat every bite of my lunch,” Shiro wheedles.

That’s too good to pass up.

“Without complaining?” Lance asks. Shiro nods vigorously. “Even if it’s space goo?”

Shiro’s little shoulders stiffen immediately. Every inch of the plaintive plea disappears from his face, replaced by a blossoming panic.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Keith says, slowly.

Shiro fidgets, glancing desperately at the mice for support. Every single mouse except for Platt shakes their head frantically. Platt simply nods, content, and gives a little mouse thumbs-up.

“...every bite,” Shiro agrees, so meekly. Plachu slaps a paw over their face.

It’ll work. Lance shrugs, palms up in a _what can you do?_ gesture towards Keith.

“There are cameras,” Lance offers, when Keith doesn’t immediately agree. “It’s how I found him last time. He can’t get too lost.”

“That’s cheating!” Shiro gasps, betrayed.

Lance raises one deliberate eyebrow. “Do you want to play or not?”

Shiro shushes immediately. On his lap the mice squeak determinedly. Chuchule pats his knee; Chulatt clambers all the way up to the top of Shiro’s head, posing victoriously. Plachu passes up a little flag.

“Fine,” Keith relents, and Shiro slides all the way down the cushion mountain with a shriek of triumphant glee. Chulatt clings on for dear life, wailing. “But listen up, Shiro. There are _rules.”_

Keith’s guidelines, of course, are considerably stricter and more specific than Lance’s. Shiro listens patiently, though he gets distracted by all four of the mice mocking Keith congenially behind his back. 

“Don’t go to Hunk this time,” Keith says, counting rules on his fingers. The mice don’t have fingers, and so have settled for paws. “He’s working. Don’t trust Lance, his hiding places are awful.” 

“Hey!” Lance protests. Keith ignores him. 

“And stay on the second floor,” he says. The mice are out of collective paws and move to tails instead. “Or we’re not going to play anymore and all we’ll do after lunch is take naps.”

“Ew,” Shiro says, making a face.

“Naps, plus we’ll read boring books without pictures,” Keith amends, firm. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Shiro says.

Pidge is so utterly focused on the careful knitting of two metal bones together that she misses the door swishing open.

“Hi,” says a little voice by her elbow.

Pidge yelps, her hand jerking. Luckily the safety on the soldering tool snaps the heat off before she can burn herself. She yanks away from the arm just in time, missing a crucial mistake by near _inches._

“Shiro!” Pidge gasps, once her heart’s no longer pounding out of her chest. Shiro beams happily up at her. “You scared me. What are you doing down here?!”

“Playing,” Shiro says, as if it’s obvious. He edges over to her worktable, stretching up on tiptoe to see. The table’s still entirely too tall for him. Pidge grabs a sheet to cover Shiro’s adult-Galra arm immediately, pushing the evidence to the side. “Keith told me not to go to Hunk so I came here. What’re you working on?”

“Things,” Pidge blurts and cringes. Wow. The tools and basic framework of Shiro’s mini-arm are still out on the table, exposed wires and skeleton rods completely visible to the air. Good one, Pidge. “Adult things. What are you playing? I thought Lance was -”

Shiro grins. “We are. Keith wanted a turn.”

The worktable’s lamp swings as Pidge accidentally bumps into it with her elbow, zig-zagging light over her workspace and Shiro’s tuft of white hair.  Pidge grabs the lamp to steady it, nearly burning herself with a squawk.

“What are you working on?” Shiro asks, craning his neck up at her. “Can I see? Is it my cool robot arm?”

Pidge blinks, startled speechless. It’s by far the most surprising thing to happen in the last few minutes. Shiro’d been so very upset last night; Pidge had promised herself not to bother him again with the arm until its completion. Not for measurements, not for progress, not for any of its cool new components or upgrades. If the measurements alone had triggered Shiro into a flashback - or a _whatever,_ Pidge can’t think about it without her stomach twisting in knots - Pidge is damn well going to minimize the chances that Shiro’s actual, new, and very much real _arm_ could do the same. That includes showing it off, even now.

But for Shiro to ask…

“You - really want to?” Pidge says, tentatively.

“Yes!” Shiro crows. There’s no trepidation in his gaze: no nerves, no anxiety, none of it. Just a child, eager and excited and ready to share absolutely all of his joy with her.

As the youngest sibling, Pidge has never had anyone look up to her before. Not like this. The surprise of it rushes through her, ballooning and warm and heady with perfect trust. If Shiro’s truly not bothered by it...

“It _is_ your cool robot arm,” Pidge confirms, with cat-hooked little smile, “And yes, you can.”

She hooks her hands under Shiro’s armpits and hoists him up, seating him on the edge of the table. He doesn’t weigh much when he’s this small; Pidge makes a mental note. Shiro gapes at the framework of the new arm now fully spread out before him, awed. His eyes scan over every detail - the metal-like bones, the wires threaded between the two major structural components, all of it. He reaches out. 

“No no no,” Pidge says, hastily grabbing Shiro’s wrist. “Not there. It’s not ready yet. You’re not supposed to bother Hunk, huh? What game is this?”

“Hide’n’seek,” Shiro explains dutifully. Pidge lets go of his wrist; Shiro bends low over the table until he’s almost eye-level with the arm, peeping at it with one eye and then the other.

“You can touch here,” Pidge says, carefully turning the arm’s frame. 

The palm of the mini hand is mostly intact, minus some tricky plating. Shiro sits up and respectfully - maybe a bit hesitantly - taps his finger into the palm. It responds beautifully, fingers curling in with the sensory impact. He gasps; Pidge smirks, grinning. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“So cool,” Shiro breathes, tapping again. The fingers relax and curl inwards again. “This - this is mine?”

“Yep,” Pidge says fondly, letting Shiro tap and tap again to his heart’s content. She’s pretty proud of her work, but Shiro’s delight is the icing on the cake. “All yours. Should be finished tomorrow, if you can wait that long.”

“I can wait,” Shiro promises, eagerly. “I’ve - ”

He pauses, little eyebrows furrowing together. Pidge frowns, shifting forward. “Shiro?”

Shiro fidgets, nose scrunching in some sort of distant thought. He’s quiet for such a long moment that Pidge’s heart skips a few beats. Her stomach twists, low. Is this...another…?

“Shiro?” Pidge asks, urgently. “Hey. You okay?”

Shiro glances up at her, worried. His eyes are clear and steady - no glowing, no panic, just a plain, blossoming confusion that takes Pidge’s breath away. 

“Have I never had another arm?” Shiro whispers.

Absolute panic races to the forefront of Pidge’s mind.

_Delay,_ Allura had said, firmly. _If Shiro asks about his arm you must deflect the question to safer territory. Tell him - tell him he’s been missing that arm as long as we’ve known him._

It’s one thing to agree to a plan, sure. But - to lie like this, with Shiro staring up at her so confused and scared - 

“What makes you say that?” Pidge asks, stalling.

“Lance and Keith were talking,” Shiro says. He’s pulled back from the arm now, a bit more distance between it and him. His voice is quiet, unsure. “I heard them. I - it doesn’t make sense. They said...I’m right-handed? But I don’t have one.”

Pidge’s jaw drops. “They said _what_ in front of you?!”

“They didn’t think I was listening,” Shiro says hastily, backtracking. “I just - I’m not missing any ears. I can hear just fine. Lance told Keith the reason we can’t color anymore is because I don’t have a right arm, and I’m right-handed. Which is why it didn’t work -”

“Coloring, huh?” Pidge says, seizing on the subject change. “Any good animals?”

Deflection. Perfect. She’s doing this right after all.

“Yes, but none I can _do,”_ Shiro replies, a sad moan. “How can I be right-handed if I don’t have a right arm? That means I used to have one, right? Why don’t I now? Why do you have to build me one?”

Oh, quiznack. Pidge glances at the door, but there’s no rescue coming. No other Paladins, charging through the opening. No Alteans. Not even any mice. She’s on her own.

“Is that why you came down here?” she asks.

Shiro nods. His chin is set firm, determined - but his lower lip’s wobbling, ever so slightly. This is too important. This, here, is crucial.

_Deflect,_ runs through Pidge’s head like a mantra, stuck on repeat. _Tell him something else. Anything!_ There’s so much Shiro isn’t supposed to know right now. So much that could hurt him; so much that already has. Pidge has been so careful already. But this...

Shiro sought her out. He came all the way down here, to Pidge’s lab, a place that terrified him just yesterday. Shiro’s facing his fears, no matter what. Shiro’s bravery and sheer determination has always been something Pidge looked up to. Now it’s Shiro, looking up to her.

Deflection plan or otherwise, Pidge cannot ignore that.

“Alright, listen,” Pidge says. Shiro looks up; Pidge leans against the worktable, bracing herself on her forearms. “I’m going to tell you a secret. But you can’t tell the others I told you, okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro whispers. His eyes are glued on hers.

Pidge takes a deep breath.

“You used to have two arms, yes,” she confirms. Shiro sucks in a breath, hanging on her every word. “Your other one was taken from you, a - a long time ago. That’s why you don’t have it now.”

Shiro’s left hand drifts up to the stump of his right. “And why it doesn’t hurt?”

“And why it doesn’t hurt,” Pidge confirms. “But I’m building you a new one now. A way better one, right?”

“I guess,” Shiro confirms, glancing at the Cool Robot Arm. “But - _how_ did I lose my arm? What happened?”

“Hunk told you you’ve had adventures, right?” Pidge prompts, gently. Shiro nods. “That’s how. We - we don’t know the details. It was a long time ago, like I said. Before I met you.”

It’s not entirely a lie, but the words still feel wrong the second they leave her lips. Shiro frowns.

“What matters,” Pidge adds, hastily, “And _all_ that matters, is that I’m building you a new one. That’s - that’s it. That’s all you have to worry about.”

Shiro’s quiet, absorbing all of this. His gaze is focused, his frown thoughtful and worried.

“Am I going to lose the other one?” Shiro asks, at last. His lower lip wobbles, eyes shimmering with deep fear.

_“No,”_ Pidge says, so sharply and firmly she startles even herself. Shiro jumps, shocked; Pidge catches him by the shoulders before he can tip over, re-balancing. A fierce wave of protectiveness surges through her, angry and hot. _“No,_ Shiro. That’s never happening to you again. Ever. Ever, ever, ever.”

“Do you promise?” Shiro whispers. He’s shaking, just a little.

“I _swear_ it,” Pidge promises, and pulls Shiro into a hug. 

Shiro grips her sweater, little fingers clinging hard. Pidge holds him just as tight. She’s definitely used to being the one encompassed in other people’s hugs - Hunk will just pick her right up, lately. Lance, too. Pidge protests, but she doesn’t really mind them wrapping their arms around her. Squeezing a little, sometimes. Just being there. It’s not weird, and it’s not really awkward anymore. It’s nice.

Standing here now, Shiro tucked safely and tightly in her arms, Pidge gets it.

It’s wrapped up in the wave of protectiveness still coursing through her. It’s squeezed into a mess of things, a tangle of emotions she’s really not good at sorting out, sometimes. But the fact is that in this moment, none of that really matters. What matters is Shiro, that Pidge can hold tight. What matters is Shiro, whose questions Pidge can answer. What matters is Shiro, with needs Pidge can meet. 

Shiro, whose little form Pidge is fully big enough to protect.

Yes. She can do this. She can be there for him. She can help him, both now when he’s so little - and later, in whatever way he needs.

This kind of hug is nice, too.

The hug lasts until Shiro squirms a bit, pushing free. Pidge lets him pull back, but only enough so she can poke him playfully in the stomach. 

“Besides,” Pidge adds. Shiro jerks away from her - nope, he’s giggling, he’s definitely laughing. Pidge grins. “If you _did_ lose another arm, I’d build you a new one. Piece of cake.”

“A better one?” Shiro asks.

“Excuse you, you don’t even know what this new one can do yet,” Pidge squawks, tickling him more. Shiro giggles, pushing her hand away with his; Pidge pulls back, letting him win. This time. “Just you wait, Shiro. This is going to be the best arm on the entire castle. Everyone’s going to be so jealous. You’ll be able to climb things, tie your own shoes, and even-” she lowers her voice conspiratorially. “- even hold a _pen.”_

“A crayon?” Shiro says, hopefully.

“All the crayons,” Pidge promises, and holds her pinky finger out so they can shake. 

“Now,” she says, once Shiro’s hooked his pinky finger around hers and they’ve dutifully shaken in solemn promise. She turns back to her computer, tapping in a command; all five fingers of the arm curl in on itself before just the thumb extends, a definite thumbs-up. Shiro bursts out laughing. Pidge grins. “Tell me about Lance and Keith. Where did you leave them? They’re playing hide and seek with you?”

Shiro squirms, just a little on the edge of her table. “Technically?”

“Shiro,” Pidge says, pointedly.

“They’re ‘seeking’,” Shiro admits with a long-suffering sigh. He shifts so he’s lying on his stomach full-out, chin propped in his one little hand as he watches her work. Pidge taps in another command and lays the palm of Shiro’s new Cool Robot Arm flat, all fingers stretching out. “Keith says he’s better than Lance, but he hasn’t found me yet. I’m not ‘sposed to ‘bother Hunk’ or ‘hide in Lance-like places’.”

Pidge doesn’t buy that for a second. “And this isn’t a Lance-like place?”

Shiro fidgets again, but only inasmuch to shoot her what would probably be a winning grin if she wasn’t already onto him. 

“I’m not ’sposed to go anywhere but the second floor.”

The second floor.

“Shiro,” Pidge gapes, torn between laughter and horror. “Is it responsible to directly disobey what Keith told you?”

“He said to stay on the second floor,” Shiro points out, shrugging little shoulders. “He didn’t say anything about _which_ second floor.”

“Which second floor,” Pidge repeats, dumbfounded.

Shiro’s grin is positively mischievous. “Depends on which way you start counting.”

The second floor _down_ from the control room is the living quarters, presumably where Keith is. The second floor _up_ from the basement - the very bottom of the ship - is the hangar.

The hangar directly connected to Pidge’s lab.

“That,” Pidge says slowly, “is devious.”

Shiro blinks.

“You found a loophole,” she explains.

“Okay,” Shiro says easily, and reaches to respectfully poke at one of her finer wrenches. “What’s this do?”

“Well,” Pidge says, smiling. This - aw man, _this_ is definitely something she can do. “Give it here. Let me show you.”

They’re going to be alright.

Eventually footsteps thunder out in the hallway. Shiro actually lets out a little _eep_ and slides off Pidge’s worktable completely, ducking neatly underneath it and behind her legs. Pidge whips the sheet off the adult-Galra arm and drapes said sheet carefully over Shiro’s head.

“Shhhh,” she says to Shiro’s giggle, and straightens back up just as Keith barrels through the door.

“Where is he?!” Keith demands. Chulatt clings to his shoulders. Platt pokes their head out of the pocket of Keith’s jacket.

The first ironclad law of hide-and-seek: never betray your teammate. Pidge might be the youngest sibling, but she isn’t dumb.

“Where’s who?” Pidge asks pleasantly. 

The door swishes closed behind Keith with a perfect click. He stalks into the room, glowering. “Don’t give me that. Have you seen Shiro?”

“Not for a whole minute,” Pidge says, straight-faced.

The sheet-covered mini-Paladin-shape behind her legs giggles. Keith’s eyes narrow. _“Pidge.”_

“No, don’t, oh no,” Pidge protests half-heartedly, shifting just enough so Keith can crouch and pull the sheet off Shiro’s head.

Shiro beams up at Keith, not repentant in the slightest. “You found me!”

“Don’t _do_ that,” Keith groans. The relief in his voice is stark. “What did I say about the second floor?”

“Well,” Pidge says, winking down at Shiro. Shiro tries to wink back and fails epically. _“Technically…”_

Lance absolutely cackles when Keith gets Shiro back to the rec lounge. “You can’t keep an eye on him either!”

“He was safe the whole time,” Keith says, because the alternative _isn’t worth thinking about,_ and deposits Shiro down on the mountain of cushions.

“Pidge showed me my arm,” Shiro announces, bouncing entirely too happily into said mountain for someone causing so much chaos.

“Well, I’m glad _Pidge_ was keeping an eye on you,” Lance says, leaning back against one of the upturned couches. “Keith, how did he have time to get all the way down there? Were you even counting?”

“Of course I was counting!” Keith shoots back. Chulatt slips down from Keith’s shoulder. Platt tumbles out of his pocket to the floor. 

“How high?” Lance demands.

“A thousand and three,” Shiro reports, gleefully leaping at the mountain again. Said mountain is rapidly becoming more of a pile.

Lance gawks, aghast. “ _Seriously?_ Hide’n’seek just goes to ten!”

Keith glares, folding his arms firmly against his chest. “He told me _you_ counted to a thousand!”

Lance glares too, this time toward their small friend. Shiro at least has the good graces to look somewhat ashamed, half-buried beneath a few fallen cushions. “Shiro!”

“I wanted to see the arm,” Shiro pouts. His words are muffled until he clambers free from the pile. “Can we play again?”

“No,” both Keith and Lance say, at once.

“It’s lunchtime,” Keith adds, swift and firm. “We made a deal.”

Shiro springs immediately to his feet, wide-eyed with alarm. “No!”

“You promised,” Lance reminds him.

“I know,” Shiro says, fast and loud, “I know I _know,_ but can we - uh - can we - um. Not yet?”

Keith blinks, surprised. “Not yet? Are you not hungry? How are you not hungry?”

“I’m starving,” Lance adds. The morning’s gone on forever. It’s definitely way past lunch time. His stomach growls.

“Kind of,” Shiro admits. He’s fidgeting. Plachu and Chuchule peek out from where they’d been hiding between the layers of cushions; Platt and Chulatt wriggle up the pile to join them until they’re all roughly level with Shiro’s shoulders. “But before lunch - can we please just play one more? I have an idea.”

He beams at them, entirely innocent and hopeful. The mice echo his sentiment, clasping little paws together again in an adorable little beg.

“Yeah, no, you’re done hiding, chico,” Lance says. “Nice try.”

“That’s why this is so great!” Shiro insists. “This one’s _better.”_

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this,” Lance groans.

“No,” Keith says, firmly. “You broke the rules, Shiro. We’re not playing again.”

“But you said the second floor,” Shiro cries. “I was on the second floor!”

“Not _this_ second floor,” Keith fires back.

“Then you should’ve said,” Shiro insists hotly, folding his arm - his one arm - across his chest. He grips at the stump of his other arm, little fingers clinging. The sleeve of his new sweater is staying put, neatly folded and sewn shut. “You didn’t say, and I was following the rules! I didn’t break them! I just wanted to say hi to Pidge.”

Chulatt clambers up onto Shiro’s shoulder, squeaking into the silence. Shiro stands his ground, lower lip thrust out firmly. Keith’s glaring. Lance is glaring. All four of the mice glare right back. Little sparks fly through the heated air. It’s Shiro and four determined fuzzy friends against the iron will of two current Paladins.

…the failing iron will of two current Paladins.

“I know you’re mad at me,” Shiro offers, tentatively. He looks from Lance to Keith, anger fading into a determined plea. His eyes are so very alight with hope. “But please? Please can we just play _one more._ I just have an idea. I’ll be good. I’m eating all my lunch.”

“That was your deal earlier,” Lance reminds him. Keith hasn’t budged. Lance folds his arms across his chest too, so the three of them make an odd sort of stubborn trio - odd, but firm. “It’s going to take more than that.”

Shiro blinks. Chuchule squeaks in warning. 

“Um,” Shiro starts. He pauses, clearly floundering. “Umm….I could…uh?”

This time Keith doesn’t hesitate, blunt and clear. “Will you take a nap later?”

The mice eep in pure alarm. All the desperation fades from Shiro in an instant, replaced by a clear, tangible horror. He gapes, stunned.

“If you agree to take a nap later, we’ll play one more game with you,” Keith levels, calm. “Deal?”

Shiro falters. Chuchule runs up the pile of cushions, leaps on top of Shiro’s other shoulder to chitter in his ear. Platt slips down towards Shiro’s knee.

“A nap?” Lance asks. “Really?”

“He didn’t take one yesterday,” Keith says, evenly. Shiro fidgets uneasily. “And I know for a fact you haven’t slept well two nights in a row, Shiro. A nap will help.”

“What if I don’t want a nap?” Shiro asks, desperate.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to play another game?”

A trapped, hurt little whine breaks out of Shiro’s throat.

“Maybe we should just go get lunch,” Lance tries.

“Can we watch a movie while we nap?” Shiro tries.

Keith shakes his head. “That defeats the point of a nap.”

“No, actually,” Lance says, when Shiro opens his mouth to protest, “That’s a good idea.”

Keith stares at him skeptically.

“ _Someone_ always falls asleep during movies,” Lance hisses, jerking his head pointedly with each word in Shiro’s direction.

Keith’s eyes widen. _“Oh.”_

“So - yes?” Shiro suggests, tentatively. All four of the mice turn as one to Keith. “Game, lunch, movie _and -_ nap?”

Keith stares him down. Shiro stares back, eyes so very wide and hopeful. Lance looks between the two of them, a spectator waiting for the final score.

“Alright,” Keith says finally. Shiro drops his clinging hand, relieved; the mice cheer. Lance tucks his hands in his pockets, fighting back his grin. Even Keith unfolds his arms, his scowl fading to something gentler and just a bit more patient. “What’s different about this game, Shiro?”

Shiro’s face lights up. “You hide. _I_ find _you.”_

Lance frowns. “How would we be sure you find us?” 

“I’ll find you,” Shiro protests, offended.

The mice squeak. Lance and Keith watch as the mice race into position. Platt and Plachu wiggle into the cushions; Chulatt and Chuchule run down from Shiro’s shoulders and, in a great show of mimicry, find their two comrades with much squeaking, joy, and the waving of surprised dramatic paws.

“The mice will help me,” Shiro says, in gleeful awe.

“Well, if the mice are helping,” Lance agrees, and Keith throws up his hands in defeat.

“I think that’ll work,” Hunk says, peering down at the worktable with Pidge. Pidge frowns, adjusting the lamp for a better view. “Can you connect that to -”

“Oh, _yes,”_ Pidge crows. She taps out a command on her computer. Both of them shift immediately to look at the arm, their faces mere inches away from the metal glory.

Exactly nothing happens.

Hunk frowns, squinting. “What happened? Why did nothing happen?”

“Nope, I got this,” Pidge says. She nudges Hunk out of the way with her hip, her small hands already flying with the correct set of pliers over the little arm. “If I clip _this -”_

The door behind them slides open so firmly both of them jump. 

_“Hunk!”_ wails a little voice.

Hunk yelps. Pidge nearly drops the tool for the second time today, swearing aloud. _“Quiznack!_ Shiro, why can’t you knock?!”

“We need to put a bell on you, kiddo,” Hunk gasps, hand to his heart. “How did you even get down here?”

“How did you even get _in_ here?!” Pidge demands.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Hunk wails too, shifting his entire body to block the worktable from Shiro’s line of sight. “How even -”

“It’s okay, he’s already seen,” Pidge reassures him, quickly.

“I only have a minute,” Shiro pants. He’s clearly been running, breathing hard, gasping in the doorway. Chuchule and Plachu race in at his heels, also out of breath. “Hunk, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Me?” Hunk exchanges a look with Pidge. She shrugs, equally clueless. “Why me? Wait, where’s Lance?”

“Where’s Keith?” Pidge piggybacks right over him, “Shiro -”

“Aw man, not again,” Hunk groans as Shiro pads closer. “Shiro, you can’t keep doing this! They’re going to be worried sick!”

“No they’re not, they don’t know I’m gone,” Shiro pleads. Frantic desperation lingers deep in his eyes. “Hunk, I need to ask you a question. It’s very important!”

“They don’t know you’re gone?” Hunk demands, voice rising.

“Keith’s found him here before,” Pidge offers, a tentative hope. “Hey, let him ask. What’s up, Shiro?”

Shiro beckons Hunk closer. Hunk leans down, then crouches all the way. Shiro cups his little hands around Hunk’s ear.

“Can we not have green goo stuff for lunch,” Shiro whispers, loudly.

Pidge guffaws, barely turning the noise into a choke.

“Sure,” Hunk replies, puzzled, drawing back. “We can have sandwiches or something. Would that work?”

Shiro lets out an enormous sigh of relief, entire body sagging. Even the mice are relieved, wiping their brows. _“Yes!”_

He flings his one arm around Hunk’s midsection, hugging tight. _“_ Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It’s no problem,” Hunk says, smiling as he pats Shiro’s head reassuringly. Shiro’s head is so small Hunk’s palm nearly covers his entire crown. “Grilled cheese sound good?”

Shiro’s face lights up in an enormous grin. “I love grilled cheese!”

“Then I think I can do that,” Hunk promises, grinning back.

Pidge snorts, shaking her head. “You came all the way down here to ask that?”

“It was important,” Shiro insists. He pulls away from Hunk and peeks at the table again - or tries to, but the only part of him that clears the table is his little floof of hair. “How’s my arm?”

“Coming right along,” Pidge reassures him. Hunk scoops Shiro up from behind, lifting him up with a big friendly growl. Shiro shrieks with laughter and hangs on as Hunk settles him on his hip. “See? Hunk’s helping me with the plating.”

“Woah,” Shiro breathes, leaning forwards. “It has skin now!”

“Plating,” Hunk corrects, affectionately.

“Plating,” Shiro repeats, happily. “That’s my arm!”

“That’s your arm,” Pidge promises, grinning too as she rustles Shiro’s hair. 

The mice squeak from where they’d been left behind on the floor. All three of the humans turn, watching as Chuchule and Plachu scamper all the way to the closed door, beckoning with paws and tails.

“I gotta go,” Shiro gasps. He wriggles against Hunk’s grip, panicked. “I gotta go, I have to find Keith and Lance before they notice I’m not looking!”

“Woah, wait a second,” Hunk says, when Shiro keeps squirming. “Hang on, bud. I’ll come with you. You must’ve already walked a hundred miles today, huh?”

“At least a _thousand,”_ Shiro sighs woefully, sagging in Hunk’s grip.

“We’ll go find Keith and Lance,” Hunk promises, jostling Shiro on his hip until Shiro laughs, clear and open. “And then you can help me make lunch. Yeah?”

“Lunch!” Shiro cheers.

“Lunch!” Hunk crows. He readjusts, hoisting Shiro up even further until Shiro’s sitting on his shoulders again; Shiro shrieks with laughter, overjoyed. Hunk reaches to steady him just in case, but Shiro’s got it this time, knees gripping easily as he situates to the new perch. His little arm wraps around Hunk’s forehead, gently holding on. Hunk turns to Pidge. “You coming?”

“In a bit,” Pidge says. She looks back at the arm, hesitating even as her careful fingers select a soldering tool. “Just want to finish this part first.”

“A break wouldn’t kill you,” Hunk says, kindly.

“Don’t die, Pidge,” Shiro says, in such genuine alarm and concern that Pidge doesn’t have a choice. “Come eat grilled cheese. Please?”

“I guess I can’t say no to that,” Pidge relents, and sets her tools down with a smile.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a peaceful blur.

With Pidge and Hunk’s assistance, Keith and Lance are found in near record time. Shiro happily eats every single bite of his grilled cheese, even if the dairy is blue and the bread faintly green. The entire gang even convinces Pidge to join them for the after-lunch movie. Shiro cuddles up right between Pidge and Hunk, watching happily as Lance selects the movie. The opening credits roll, the title plays, and bit by bit Lance’s eyes start to get just a little heavy. Lunch was late, and it has been a long few days.

“You did good, Lance,” Hunk whispers, about twenty minutes in. Pidge is a deadweight on his shoulder, snoring, glasses askew. Shiro’s tucked between them, miraculously still awake. He peeks an eye out at Lance curiously.

“Go to sleep,” Lance mouths at him. Shiro squeezes his eyes shut and lays his head on Hunk’s stomach obediently. 

On Pidge’s other side Keith’s sprawled out, slouching against the back of the couch and his arms folded over his chest. His eyes are closed, head limp against the cushions.

“We’re doing great,” Lance summarizes, equally content, and leans his head on Hunk’s other shoulder.

He falls asleep to the gentle sounds of the movie…

...and therefore completely misses when Shiro opens his eyes again, minutes later, and wiggles off the couch.

Allura is pulled from her focus by a slight tug on her skirt. She doesn’t startle; she heard the door open, and the patter of little feet approaching. There’s exactly one person this could be. 

“Hello, Shiro,” she says with a smile. Her console on the bridge mutes easily with a quick wave of her fingertips, charts banished to sleep. “What a pleasant surprise. Can I do something for you?”

Shio shifts his weight from one little foot to the other, but doesn’t break eye contact. How did he get up here, all alone? Where are the others, to let him wander by himself? “I need advice, please.”

Allura hesitates.

It’s true that Allura’s scope of knowledge regarding this situation is far from complete. Talking with Hunk and Lance last night was a great help; talking with Keith earlier today even more so. Allura’s trying her absolute best; the bottom line is she’s determined to make this right.

Regardless of her best intentions, however, the damage has been done. Subverted, thankfully, but done. Allowing the Paladins to take care of Shiro’s immediate supervision is the only solution. If Allura simply isn’t there, she cannot make further mistakes. The choice, while painful, is obvious.

Shiro’s presence here completely ruins that plan.

This is Allura’s first time really observing Shiro as he is, Shiro as he has become. What strikes her most is how small he is, blinking up at her with such a steady and sincere expression. The scar still stretches across the bridge of his nose. The sleeve of his new sweater just barely reaches his wrist. The other sleeve is tacked neatly out of the way, thanks entirely to Keith and his nimble work with a needle. The color of the sweater is excellent on him; Allura’s instincts were spot on, as usual. Yet something about Shiro’s shrunken figure, his little fingers tangled in her skirt, and the wide innocence of his eyes speaks of a fragility that must be honored. An innocence that must be protected. Shiro’s defenselessness and quaint charm, his familiarity bundled into something so serious and so small is just - it’s - 

\- it’s so quiznacking _adorable_ that Allura’s heart absolutely melts.

“Of course, little Paladin,” Allura says, crouching down to his height. If she’s cooing a bit, well, no one is around to hear. “What can I help you with?”

Shiro fidgets, shuffling one small foot along the floor. The boots she’d bought fit him perfectly, soft and warm with the lining just peeking over the edges of the bright cuffs. The height of fashion, she’d been assured. “I kind of…have to show you?”

The wide-eyed look he tilts up at her is innocence incarnate, the perfect blend of pleading, slightly-sorrowful-imploring hope.

Even Allura is not immune. 

“By all means, lead the way,” Allura says grandly, softening utterly, and lets Shiro take her hand to lead her on.

Shiro leads her unerringly through the castle’s halls, tugging gently down stairs and around corners. Allura follows, bemused, as he leads her directly to - what do the Paladins call it? The Moo-vee Lab? “Shiro?”

“Shh,” Shiro insists. The door access panel is well above his head; Allura palms it open for them. Inside the room the lights are dim, one of the Paladins’ brightly colored moo-vees playing against the opaque’d wall. The couches are angled just so, the pile of blankets usually stacked in the corner gone - 

\- gone, because they’re spread roughly over all four of the other Paladins, so deeply entwined in slumber they could easily be a preserved picture. Keith’s slouched against one end of the couch next to Pidge, who’s curled up on Hunk, who’s supporting Lance’s other side. Lance’s snores are blowing a bubble out of his nose. Hunk’s mouth is open, drooling; Pidge has her face smooshed into his stomach, her feet pressing up against Keith’s side. Keith’s loosely flopped an arm over her bare ankles, completely asleep too. 

It gives Allura pause.

These Paladins of Voltron are still so new to their positions. Allura keenly remembers her doubt in their original assignments - how “all we’ve got” was born from desperation, a necessity-based form of trust, and how quickly it fueled into sincere hope. Each one of the Paladins bears their responsibilities with grace and rapidly growing expertise, if a little unorthodox in their methods. The threat of danger is constant; Allura feels that pressure keenly. Her Paladins must as well. They’ve shouldered their burdens admirably, consistently, taken each new challenge with grace and courageous strength. To add onto all of that the new toll of taking care of their very dear friend, however gladly borne - 

No wonder they’re all exhausted. No wonder Shiro came to get her. Their friends have been so busy looking after him that they’ve forgotten, somewhat, to look after themselves.

Watching her Paladins sleep, her graceful fingers still held respectfully in the grip of one tiny, still-responsible palm, Allura vows to do better by them. All of them. Her Paladins deserve their rest. 

And heart-heavy responsibilities aside, the fact of the matter is this:

The ‘cuddle pile’ is still one of the most endearing things she’s ever seen.

…second most. The little person gripping her hand takes the crown for grand prize.

Shiro tugs her out of the room, gesturing with his head. Allura follows.

“Why are you not asleep?” she asks quietly, once the door has shushed shut behind them.

Shiro shrugs, the collar of his sweater shifting along his neck. “Not tired.”

“Is that so?” Allura asks, raising a delicate eyebrow. 

Shiro nods stubbornly. His face is a bit pale for someone apparently so well rested. “It’s their turn for a nap. They’re always trying to make me take one, but they don’t do the same, and they need their rest. They’ve been sleeping all afternoon. And I’m _glad_ they’re sleeping.”

“But?” Allura prompts.

“But I’m hungry,” Shiro admits, sheepishly. “Hunk said he’d make pancakes tonight, but he’s just as tired and I don’t want to wake him up. What should I do?”

Allura considers. It’s true that her Paladins don’t often get enough sleep; truer still if Shiro’s already well aware of the fact, even when small. She’d expected no less from her Black Paladin, but for him to reach this conclusion while regressed is…remarkable. 

Mistakes or not, this one is easy. Allura can certainly start here.

“Tell you what,” she says, crouching down to Shiro’s height. It’s a ways; he is so _small._ “I know where Hunk keeps his cooking supplies. Why don’t you and I go get started and see what we can find? The other Paladins can join us after they’ve had a nice long rest.”

“You know how to cook?” Shiro gasps, wonder-struck. His little hand is still held trustingly in hers.

“Certainly I do,” Allura lies, because how could she say no to that face? She’ll figure it out. Cooking is following a set of written instructions. How hard can it be? “Come. Let’s see what we can find.”

The rest of the Paladins wake up to an alarm blaring in their ears. Red klaxons wail in all four corners of the rec room, in tune with the screaming sirens and flashing windows. 

“Are we under attack?!” Hunk gasps, flailing his way up and socking Lance in the face. Panicked limbs fly akimbo as all four of them uncoordinatedly try to get up at the same time, trapped and tripping hard. It’s a hot mess. Pidge steps on Keith’s foot in her haste; he accidentally shoves his hand back onto something soft. “Ow!”

“That was my _gut,”_ Lance groans, “Pidge, get off me!”

“I’m not _near_ you,” Pidge groans, whacking Hunk with her elbow as she reaches for her glasses. “Keith! Keith, move!”

“Ow,” Keith protests, as Pidge’s outstretched foot smacks him in the solar plexus. “Pidge!”

“Sorry!” Pidge says, “Sorry!”

“Don’t hit Shiro,” Lance yelps, as Pidge overbalances right into where Shiro’d been asleep - except Pidge falls smack into Hunk, with no tiny Paladin to break her fall. “…Shiro?”

“Where’s Shiro?” Keith demands, finally scrambling clear of the flailing pile of limbs. 

“Alarm first, Shiro next,” Hunk manages. Pidge rolls off him and scans the room, wide eyes blinking behind enormous frames. Keith glares at him; Hunk flaps his hands placatingly. “Or at the same time! Same time!”

“How did we all fall asleep?” Lance groans, pulling clear of Hunk and popping to his feet. “Aw man, what’s - do we need the Lions? Allura? Are we under attack?”

None of them have their helmets. There’s nothing but the blare of the sirens and the red flash of the windows. 

“Allura said we were safe,” Keith insists, frantically scanning every corner of the room as Lance pulls Hunk to his feet. “Shiro? Shiro!”

The wailing pattern of the alarm finally clarifies itself through their fog of panic. Hunk groans. “Aw, guys, that’s not the _We’re All Gonna Die_ alarm -”

“That’s the _kitchen,”_ Pidge gasps and everyone absolutely bolts for the door.

The kitchen’s not on fire by the time they get there. Bright blue plumes of smoke billow out into the hallway - actually, it’s not smoke so much as a mix of pressurized clouds of foam. Green goop seeps along the floor as the Paladins skid in. Lance slips on it and sails straight into Hunk, who only barely catches him.

The kitchen is an absolute mess of green goo and blue fire-suppressant, dripping brightly off the walls. The alarm’s stopped. Coran’s holding a fire extinguisher, blue suppressant caught on his clothes and in his mustache. It’s in Allura’s hair, staining the fabric of her dress, and it’s absolutely covering poor Shiro where he’s sitting on the counter, laughing so hard it stops all of them in their tracks.

“What the quiznack?!” Lance exclaims, as Hunk helps him up.

Hunk catches sight of the burnt and crumpled pink packaging on the counter. “My pancake mix!”

“There aren’t _any_ instructions,” Allura explains, gesturing feebly to the mangled remains of a bowl by the heating element.

“That’s precisely why you should have come to me for help!” Coran interjects, waving the extinguisher in emphasis. “Princess, you _know_ cooking’s not one of your specialties -”

“Or woken me up, oh my god, my _pancakes_ ,” Hunk moans. 

_“Exactly_ ,” Coran says, swinging the extinguisher over the four Paladins in emphasis. It spurts out one last puff of blue, splattering all four of them squarely in the face with suppressant. They splutter, shocked.

“Ew!”

“Gross!”

_“Coran!”_

“My apologies - I thought it was empty!”

“Tastes like berries,” Pidge manages, wiping her face clear. “Hunk?”

“I am _not_ cooking with this,” Hunk groans, stepping further into the kitchen to pick up the sad remains of the would-be pancake box.

Keith wipes blue foam from his eyes as Lance steps past him, further into the room to where Shiro’s nearly doubled over with laughter. “You okay, Shiro?”

“Covered in _goo,”_ Shiro manages, laughing so hard that it’s utterly contagious. Hunk grins; Lance whoops with laughter; Pidge’s eyes light up behind her glasses. Even Keith can’t help but crack a smile. 

“An unfortunate experiment, but no harm done other than the hope of dinner,” Coran says, setting the extinguishing device down. “There’s always space goo. Who’s going to help me clean this mess while I re-calibrate the goo machine to the appropriate nutritional value for such a busy day?”

An absolute chorus of excuses ricochets through the kitchen.

“We are _not_ eating space goo, not over my dead body,” Hunk swears, already rolling up his sleeves.

“Just remembered something else I have to do,” Keith manages.

“Too busy,” Pidge offers, disappearing out the door.

“Too small,” Shiro giggles. He’s covered in the suppressant absolutely from head-to-toe, a giggling mess of foam. What had the kitchen done - exploded in their face? 

“I will help, Coran,” Allura says, with a sigh. Only she’s more foam-y than Shiro. “Allow me a moment to change into something less - _blue,_ and I shall be with you shortly.”

“In the meantime, _someone_ needs a bath,” Lance declares, scooping Shiro up. “C’mon, kiddo.”

“Do we have to?” Shiro asks, but it’s half-hearted, still swallowed in laughter as Lance picks him up from the pancake carnage.

“Yes,” Lance says, firmly, “and then dinner, and then bed. It’s been a long enough day for you, you little trouble-maker.”

“I’m not trouble,” Shiro says, tucking his head contentedly into Lance’s neck and spreading blue foam all over his shirt. “I’m Shiro.”

Allura smiles. Even with the blue sticking the strands of her hair together, she’s still regal, impressive, and incredibly, impossibly fond. “We wouldn’t want you as anyone else.”

And no matter the circumstances, it’s rather a sentiment on which they can all agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter ~~or squealed at any point from Cute Overload~~ , please drop me a comment and let me know! :) Comments absolutely help keep me motivated to keep going. You're also very welcome to pop over to my [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) and say hello! 
> 
> Have a great long weekend!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith worries, and Shiro's strange behavior finally crosses a line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again~! Surprise Tuesday Smol!
> 
> Welcome to the double-digit chapter!! We've hit Chapter 10 and are well upwards of 50k. Mind-boggling. :') The Google Doc my dear beta [Andy](http://ashinan.tumblr.com) and I work in is so big it lags when we try to make changes. Thanks for putting up with it anyway, Andy - and thank you, THANK YOU for continuing to be my rockstar beta. The speed of this chapter is entirely thanks to her - I really appreciate it, my friend. <3 
> 
> Milestone time: in the space between chapter 9 and 10, we've also hit 1000 kudos. AhhhhHHHH!!! Thank you, THANK YOU, for your readership, kudos, comments, likes - they just mean the world to me. I'm so very very honored. Please know I am reading (and LOVING) each and every one of your comments. Replies are coming, but in the meantime please also know that I value your feedback and enthusiasm IMMENSELY. Sharing this with all of you is such a gift and I'm so, so excited for what's coming up.
> 
> This chapter starts the Halfway Point. I'm WILDLY excited about what's coming next. Stupidly, wildly excited. I'm also just tickled at how many of you delighted in the last chapter with me. :') so cute!! Kudos to the few of you who did wonder why we were getting so much cute....so abruptly....without reason.... ;)
> 
> Enjoy!!

The pre-dinner bath is fast and uneventful, except for a veritable explosion of bubbles that Lance will insist was Keith’s fault all the way to his grave. Clad in one of Hunk’s well-oversized shirts, Shiro waits patiently while Lance chucks the foamy blue-stained clothes into the castle’s laundry chute, and then happily follows Lance down the hall. The hem of his borrowed shirt drags nearly to the floor.

“C’mon, let’s find you something more comfortable to sleep in,” Lance says, when they arrive back at Shiro’s room. “I know Hunk got you more than one pair of footie pajamas. Where’d he put them, d’you think?”

“I can help,” Shiro says, eagerly tugging one of the drawers in his room. “In here?”

Lance freezes. The drawer is full, but not with any of yesterday’s purchases. Black shirts and replicated vests peek out of the open drawer, sitting next to neatly folded piles of turtlenecks and cargo pants.

“Not that one,” Lance says hastily, shoving the drawer shut with his foot. Blindly he pulls open another: more clothes but of the wrong size. He slams that closed and opens another, finally striking gold. A pile of fuzzy and small fabric greets his questing hand. Lance pulls out the softest of the pajama sets, a gentle grey background decorated with purple rocket ships, and kicks the drawer shut too. “Here we go! Let’s try these.”

Shiro doesn’t respond. He’s staring at the drawer he first opened, frowning.

Oh no.

Lance’s stomach drops, a sharp swoop that has nothing to do with hunger pangs. He’d heard from Hunk - and then Keith - is this - ? 

“Shiro?”

Shiro blinks, swinging his gaze from the drawer up to Lance. “Yes?”

…no. Both Hunk and Keith described Shiro’s flashbacks as something significantly more substantial, smothered in misery and tears and ultimate terror - at least, that was how Hunk had described it. More or less. Kind of. Lance inferred. Shiro isn’t so much as trembling, here. He isn’t crying, and his eyes certainly aren’t glowing. He just looks…confused, and almost - 

\- hurt?

“There you guys are,” Keith says, from the door. Lance nearly jumps right out of his skin.

“Keith!” he yelps, “Knock next time!”

“We fixed your nightlight,” Keith says, ignoring Lance. He’s changed too, into loose and comfy clothes after the disaster that was the bath. Did he lose the footie pajamas Lance gave him last night? Lance frowns. Keith sets the crystal-device on the nightstand carefully. The crystal is glowing a soothing soft aqua, the light pulsing gently. Shiro scrambles away from the open drawer and leans his forearms on the nightstand, staring at the pretty light. “Hunk says it’s time for dinner. You coming?”

“Pancakes,” Shiro cries happily, easily distracted. He runs straight out of the room - or would, but Keith’s standing in the doorway, so Shiro really just runs into his legs.

“Hold on there,” Keith says, bracing Shiro with his hands on the little Paladin’s shoulders. Shiro beams up at him. “You’re not going to dinner dressed like that.”

Shiro pouts. “Why not?”

“Got you!” Lance declares, scooping up Shiro from behind. Shiro shrieks with laughter, giggling and delighted as Lance carries him back inside. “Give us two minutes, Keith. Tell Hunk we’ll be right there.”

“I’ll wait for you in the hall,” Keith promises and slips out.

Dinner’s fast and easy, too. It’s not pancakes like Shiro’d hoped, but a quick version of ‘space-spaghetti’ - even if the noodles are teal. The sauce is flavorful enough and Shiro happily eats every bite. Hunk is a miracle worker once again. Before too long the food is gone, the dishes are clean, and it’s time for the last hurdle of the evening.

Putting Shiro to bed is much easier said than done.

“Come on,” Lance wheedles, for at least the fourth time. Shiro’s technically tucked in, sitting under the pile of blankets on his bed, but he won’t lay down and he’s clutching the second pillow tightly to his chest. A terrible substitute for a stuffed animal. Lance still can’t believe his rotten luck. “Just lay down, okay? I know you didn’t take a nap today, you little sneak. You’ve got to be tired.”

“m not tired,” Shiro insists, mulishly. His grip on the pillow tightens. He’s staring fixedly at a point on the mattress and quite determinedly not at Lance.

The door swishes open just a crack. Hunk sticks his head in.

“Hey,” Hunk says, gently. Keith peers over his shoulder - or tries to, but Hunk’s too tall. Keith readjusts to peer around Hunk’s shoulder instead. “Everything okay? It’s just been a while.”

It’s not the best timing for an interruption. 

“We’re fine,” Lance says. He even manages to keep all the frustration out of his voice. Nice and easy, that’s the way.

“Maybe some warm space-milk tonight after all?” Hunk suggests.

“He’s already had two glasses of water,” Lance says, before Shiro can agree. Shiro clutches the pillow closer to him, pouting. No: he’s sulking. This is getting worse and worse.

“What’s wrong, Shiro?” Keith asks, crouching down by the bed. “Aren’t you tired? You didn’t take a nap today. Don’t think we didn’t notice.”

“Everyone took a nap,” Shiro mumbles.

“But not you,” Keith clarifies. He reaches, running his hand gently through the floof of Shiro’s hair. Shiro closes his eyes reflexively, head nodding - picks his head back up immediately, frowning still. “Hey. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

Shiro shakes his head stubbornly. He’s staring at the comforter again, stubborn and upset.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Hunk says, sitting down on Shiro’s other side. Shiro very nearly leans into his warm presence, head drooping again; his eyes slide shut, but Shiro peels them back up and open with a supreme force of will. “Nothing’s going to happen to you tonight, okay? If we stayed until you fell asleep, would that help?”

Shiro fidgets, lip still thrust out in that pout and face a frustrated wash of exhausted misery.

“Will you stay after I fall asleep, too?” he asks. His voice is so very small and scared. “I kn-now Lance said big boys have to sleep by themselves, but - ”

“Lance made a mistake,” Lance says softly, his heart breaking. He rubs his hand soothingly across Shiro’s shoulders; Shiro relaxes into the touch with a sigh, before peeling his eyes open one more time. “I know. I’m sorry, bud. Of course we can stay with you.”

“Who do you want to stay, Shiro?” Keith asks. 

Shiro swallows and looks up. The tiniest hope wings into his eyes. “Everybody?”

There’s a pause. Lance looks at Keith. Keith looks at Lance. Hunk looks between the two of them, mouth slightly agape.

“Or not,” Shiro amends, sadly. He hunches in on himself, shoulders curving. The stump of his right arm is wrapped just as tightly around the pillow as his left hand is. “I just thought - like a sleepover, maybe. But not if no one wants to.”

“A sleepover is a great idea,” Keith says, before Lance can.

Shiro looks up, hope rekindling in his eyes like a match, struck anew. “Really?”

“Really?” Lance squawks.

“Really,” Keith says, firmly. “As long as Lance stays on one side of Hunk, and I’ll stay on the other, and we’ll be fine.”

“Works for me,” Hunk says amicably.

Lance throws up his hands in defeat.

“Fine,” Lance says, but only because Shiro’s looking up at him so hopefully. “As long as Hunk’s in the middle. That work for you, Shiro?”

“Yes,” Shiro says, little shoulders relaxing with relief and joy. “Go get your pajamas!”

“You heard our fearless leader,” Lance orders, pointing a commanding finger out the door. Keith rolls his eyes.

“I’ll stay while you get ready,” Hunk says, scooting closer to Shiro while Keith rises and Lance rolls off the bed entirely. “Come here, Shiro. Allura found some old stories she used to read when she was your age. Coran fixed up a translator so we can understand them. Want to hear one while we wait?”

“Yes,” Shiro says, and - finally - curls sleepily into Hunk’s side. 

Keith’s woken partway through the night when a flailing hand whaps him in the face.

“Ow,” Keith groans, blinking awake immediately. The perpetrator grunts: it’s Hunk, his hand flopping back down to the mattress. Somehow he’s rolled over closer to Keith, mumbling something in his sleep - and he’s definitely still out. Huh.

Keith rubs a hand over his face, sitting up. The nightlight’s still on, casting the room in a gentle aqua-green glow. It falls softly across Hunk’s shoulders, rising and falling with his deep snores; the light shines across Lance on Hunk’s other side, limbs akimbo and one of his legs tangled up with Hunk’s. The glow of the nightlight curves against the shadows cast from a still-open drawer onto the floor, the push of blankets back to the bed - 

\- and Shiro, trying to climb his way over Lance without waking him.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers.

Shiro freezes, caught. The light shines in his eyes when he turns back to Keith, aqua reflecting in normal grey. He holds his index finger to his lips, nearly tipping over in the process. Keith shifts to grab him, but Shiro manages it just in time, wobbling back upright.

“Shiro, what are you doing?”

Shiro doesn’t answer, too busy scooting down towards the bottom of the bed. He picks his way over Lance’s legs, clambering out over blankets and Hunk’s feet and into the freedom of the open room. Lance stirs a little, grunting. The bed shifts solidly when he rolls into the middle, filling the space Shiro vacated. Traitor.

“Shiro,” Keith hisses.

Shiro pads on quiet feet out through the open door and into the hall.

Maybe he’s just going to the bathroom…? Keith’s not willing to risk it. He pulls his legs out from alongside Hunk (who hasn’t moved again, the traitor), climbs carefully over Lance’s tangled legs (he grunts, but still doesn’t wake), and finally escapes the sleeping pile.

Shiro’s most of the way down the hall by the time Keith gets out of the room. It helps that the hall is short, with Shiro’s room closest to the junction to the rest of the castle. Keith palms the door shut and jogs down the hall, catching up easily. “Hey. Did you need to use the bathroom, Shiro? You’re going the wrong way.”

“I forgot something,” Shiro explains, and pads around the corner.

Keith’s so stunned his feet actually stop moving. By the time he recovers from the shock, Shiro’s well along the next hall and headed for the stairs. The castle’s lights illuminate with each deliberate step of his journey, the walls themselves lighting the way. 

“Shiro?” Keith calls.

“C’mon,” Shiro replies over his shoulder and Keith’s so utterly confused he has no choice but to follow.

Shiro leads him unerringly down the stairs and through the castle’s depths, his one hand trailing along the wall and the low railings for support as he carefully navigates wide step after wide step. He doesn’t offer an explanation; he simply leads, step after step after patient step. His little feet never falter, even when the journey grows.

“I can carry you, if you tell me where we’re going,” Keith suggests, when they’re two stories down from the sleeping chambers and Shiro’s showing no signs of stopping. “Shiro?”

“Almost there,” Shiro says and turns down a third flight of stairs.

At last Shiro stops outside a familiar door, reaching up towards the control panel. He’s entirely too short. Keith leans in to do it for him, but Shiro simply clambers up on the seated alcove near the door - just barely the right height for a child - balances, leans out precariously, and presses his palm to the panel. The door swooshes open. The lights in the room beyond are already on.

“Is that how you’ve been getting into places?” Keith asks, reluctantly impressed.

Shiro grins at him, hops down, and slips inside.

Pidge is passed out at her worktable, face squashed into the surface, drooling slightly. Even her laptop is asleep, the screen dark and quiet where it’s still hooked up to her project. Shiro’s new and nearly complete mini-arm has pride of place in the center of the workstation. It’s come a long ways since Keith last saw it, complete now with fingers, elbow, and significant white plating covering most of the loose wires. 

To Keith’s relief, Shiro ignores the arm completely, opting instead to shuffle right up to Pidge and tug gently on her sleeve.

“Pidge,” Keith murmurs, stepping closer.

“She forgets to sleep,” Shiro says matter-of-factly, tugging again. Pidge mumbles something incoherent, shifting a little, but doesn’t wake. The concern on Shiro’s face is deep, surprising in and of itself, and yet - self-directed. “Can we help her?”

Despite Keith’s own confusion, Shiro is so gently concerned and bafflingly sincere that Keith cannot resist his own fond smile. “Of course we can.” 

Pidge’s glasses rest on a pile of tools near her left hand; Keith plucks them up and tucks them in the pocket of his jacket. It’s easy enough to crouch down and slide Pidge onto his back. She murmurs again, cheek rubbing into Keith’s shoulder, but doesn’t wake.

The trek back up to their sleeping quarters is long but not impossible. Shiro treads ahead or by Keith’s side for most of it, his eyes on the journey, thoughtful and quiet. Keith’s own thoughts are racing, spinning in circles entirely too busy for whatever hour of night this is. Eventually, he just cannot keep it in.

He takes care to keep his voice low, his words easy. The last thing Shiro needs is to be startled by the question, but Keith - Keith _has to know._

“How did you remember?” Keith asks, quietly.

Shiro pauses at the top of the stairs, blinking down at Keith as he carries Pidge up the last few steps. “Remember what?”

“About Pidge,” Keith says. He gains the top of the stairwell and hoists Pidge a little higher up his back; she doesn’t stir at all, still completely out. “Do you do this every night?”

“Do what?”

“Go get her,” Keith says, simply. “If she’s not sleeping.”

It’s treading perilously close to lines he promised not to cross - so close he’s practically leapt over them. Secrets come out in the dead of night; things buried resurrect. Shiro’s odd silence and the solemnity with which he’s led Keith on this journey - _something is up._ This is the absolute closest they’ve come to - to anything. Shiro’s missed so many hints over the last several days. For him to recall this, of all things…

….is it possible the amnesia could be wearing off?

Shiro shrugs. The absurdity of the question, and the situation, doesn’t phase him. “I don’t know. I woke up and everyone else was there, but Pidge wasn’t. It didn’t make sense.”

Hope flutters in Keith’s chest, small and true.

“Do other things?” Keith asks, carefully. “Not make sense.”

Shiro pauses in the hall.

They’re close to his room, finally, having rounded the last turn. The nighttime lighting plays off the lines of Shiro’s face - small, yes, but oddly full of hesitation and a surprising amount of doubt. Although it’s more reassuring than the blank, eye-glowing terror of yesterday, it isn’t much of an improvement. The depths of confusion and hurt in Shiro’s eyes still cuts Keith directly to his core.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, alarmed.

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I’m…I…”

Keith waits. Pidge is a deadweight on his back, his hands hooked under her legs, her arms sprawled over his shoulders in the piggyback. He can’t reach out to Shiro but he can be here for him, for this moment, as Shiro slowly but surely sifts through whatever thoughts have spurred this midnight revelation. 

“Can I tell you tomorrow?” Shiro whispers, hesitantly. “I…please.”

It’s not a no. It’s not a yes, but it isn’t a _no._ That’s something.

_Patience yields focus._

Keith can wait.

“Okay,” Keith says, gently, because it _is_ late, and carries on.

It’s dark inside Shiro’s room. In their absence the nightlight’s fallen off the table again, the crystal de-activated and dull. Keith nudges Hunk impatiently until Hunk rolls over, closer to the wall, grumbling. Lance is the only one who stirs, surprisingly, at the shift in the bed as Keith lays Pidge down. 

“Hmm?” he grunts, as Keith pulls up the abandoned blankets, tucking one over Pidge’s shoulders and over bits of Lance and Hunk, by association. “Mullet?”

“Go back to sleep, knucklehead,” Keith says. 

“Mrmf,” Lance mumbles, and rolls over again, out.

Pidge doesn’t so much as twitch, turning her face towards the boys and letting out a soft, content sigh. Keith sets her glasses on the nightstand, righting the night-crystal and turning it back on. It flickers stubbornly at first - a new hairline fissure has spread across its surface - but illuminates, familiar and comforting once more.

“I don’t think we’re going to fit,” Keith says, judging the space left on the bed. There’s a spot near the headboard, but that’s it. 

“Yes, we will,” Shiro says determinedly, and to Keith’s surprise they do.

Surprisingly, it’s not uncomfortable. Lance shifts with only the slightest of prodding, making room for Keith to climb onto the mattress and Shiro to tuck right in with him. Pidge rolls right over Keith’s legs the second he settles, heavy and surprisingly - comfortable. It’s an odd sort of cuddle pile but it works: Hunk is the furthest towards the wall, Lance sandwiched in the middle between him and Pidge. Keith’s tucked up against the headboard, and if he’s sitting up he absolutely doesn’t care. He’s slept in worse. Shiro’s pressed against him, his little head resting on Keith’s chest. Hunk’s hand somehow finds Keith’s knee and lays there, flopped with sleep. Keith can’t even bring himself to mind.

Despite the late hour, Shiro doesn’t immediately fall back asleep. Keith waits, fingers idly drawing circles on the fuzzy fabric of Shiro’s rocket ship pajamas.

“Do you remember what I said on the training deck yesterday?” he asks when Shiro’s breathing doesn’t even out for a while.

Shiro blinks in the dim lighting of the room, long lashes dragging over his cheeks. “Yes.”

“I meant it,” Keith says. The nightlight’s glow illuminates the entire room in a wash of gentle blue, safe and calm. “Whatever you remember or don’t. I’m here for you. All of us are. Okay?”

Shiro’s quiet for so long Keith’s afraid he truly did fall asleep. When he speaks again, it’s so quiet Keith can barely hear him.

“You’ll laugh,” is what Shiro says.

“Never,” Keith promises, vehemently. Hunk grunts something unintelligible, shifting in his sleep. Keith lowers his voice. _“Never._ Whatever you have to say is important to me. Everything. _Anything._ You hear that? _Anything._ I meant what I said.”

“Even if it’s weird?” Shiro murmurs into Keith’s shirt.

“Especially if it’s weird,” Keith promises. “Why? What’s so weird that’s got you so worried?”

Shiro fidgets and this time it isn’t a squirm of _getting comfortable_ so much as it is one of distinct, tangible unease.

“Shiro,” Keith starts, low.

“Can I tell you in the morning?” Shiro asks and the hint of desperation in his voice is clear even in the dark. “Please?”

Despite all Keith’s curiosity - despite his burning desire to _know_ \- despite the pounding in his chest that maybe this is it, maybe Shiro’s _remembered something -_ Shiro’s overwhelming hesitancy, his confusion, and his utter fear of _whatever is scaring him_ ultimately wins out.

Keith’s never been able to say no to Shiro.

He certainly isn’t able to start now.

“Okay,” Keith says, simply, and runs his fingers gently through Shiro’s hair. The soothing gesture works; Shiro shudders against him with a sigh, weight increasing as he goes limp. “Okay.”

Shiro doesn’t offer anything else, and Keith doesn’t press. The quiet of the room bears down upon them, broken only by the soft breathing and gentle snores of the other Paladins. Keith’s sure he’s not going to fall asleep, borne down with the weight of unanswered questions and pressed upon by four other people so close in his space - but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s late and it’s been a very stressful three days. There’s no harm in waiting just a little longer.

_Patience yields focus._

Keith will wait as long as it takes.

Shiro’s fingers tighten in Keith’s shirt, the smallest of movements. He’s still in there. Somewhere. Somehow. That’s important, right?

Shiro doesn’t say anything else, and Keith falls asleep before he can find out if Shiro does, too.

Breakfast is full of a pleasant chatter and cheer. Keith missed the moment Pidge woke up to find herself in an impromptu cuddle pile, but from the rested bright shine of her eyes as she tucks into breakfast, no harm’s been done whatsoever. She waves her spork to illustrate a point; laughs at Lance when he responds with a roll of his eyes and a sarcastic quip. Hunk teases too, sliding more deep red pancakes on everyone’s plate. The second batch of pancakes is brought to them by a happy discovery from the scattered blue bags of Lance’s purchases, still mostly hidden in his room. Keith listens and responds when prompted, working through his own breakfast with half an ear on the chatter. Coran’s absent; there’s a note from Allura that she’s already eaten and is piloting them to a new location. It’s just the Paladins this morning, sharing Hunk’s culinary miracle in an easy, delighted camaraderie.

Except for one.

Shiro picks at his pancakes with none of the enthusiasm from last night, chasing the food around his plate with only half-interest. He’s staring at his plate more than eating. At least twice Lance has to prod him out of deep thought, gently concerned. Though Shiro pulls his head up each time, blinking at them with grey eyes, scarcely a few minutes go by before he’s drooping again, little head continually nodding.

By the time Hunk carefully suggests that maybe Shiro didn’t get enough sleep last night, Shiro acquiesces to Lance’s hint of a nap with no prompting whatsoever.

“That’s odd,” Hunk comments as Lance picks up Shiro easily. “Did the cuddle pile not work? I slept like a rock, man.”

“Maybe it was your snoring that kept him up,” Lance suggests good-naturedly. 

“Wasn’t,” Shiro mumbles. “‘m just tired.” 

“I can relate,” Pidge says, through a mouthful of pancake.

Lance presses the back of his hand carefully to Shiro’s forehead. “You’re a little warm in there, bud. You feeling alright?”

Shiro tilts his head into Lance’s neck without complaint, heavy and limp.

“Okay,” Lance says easily enough, shaking his head when Keith frowns at them. “Nothing to worry about. Let’s go put on a movie and just chill this morning, okay? Nothing strenuous.”

“ ‘kay,” Shiro mutters.

“Get some sleep,” Pidge says fondly, swallowing - impossibly - the entire mouthful. Finished, she hops up, stretching her hand up to brush briefly over Shiro’s hair. “And I might have a surprise for you later today, okay?”

Shiro doesn’t reply. Pidge’s eyes flicker to Lance’s, concerned; Lance shakes his head again, readjusting his grip. “Maybe later. We’ll come find you after lunch. Which we’ll see you for, yeah?”

“Sure, mom,” Pidge quips, rolling her eyes and heading for the door.

“You guys go get started,” Hunk says good-naturedly, rising too. “Pick any movie you want. I’ll clean up.”

Lance hoists Shiro up a few careful inches. “You coming, Keith?”

Shiro doesn’t so much as look up. With his face tucked into Lance’s neck he’s not meeting anybody’s gaze. Keith doesn’t blame him for being tired, or not feeling well, but this - 

Is it possible Shiro’s...hiding?

From Keith?

“Keith?” Hunk asks as Lance and Shiro leave the room. He’s gathering the dishes from breakfast but pauses.  “Something wrong?”

“No,” Keith says. The bright light of the star they’re passing shines through the windows from the hallway, lighting the dining room briefly in soft, brilliant pink. Nothing’s wrong, exactly, but it doesn’t - this doesn’t seem right.

If Shiro’s amnesia is wearing off. If he’s starting to regain a little bit of himself, maybe. If Shiro’s started to remember things after all.

Then why wouldn’t he tell Keith?

“Remembering things?” Coran says, when Keith asks. Research runs on six separate screens behind the Altean, programs clicking away in an endless scroll of data. One of the screens projects what might be English, but it’s passing too fast for Keith to be sure. “I suppose he might be; it’s possible your little human brains work that way. The Pheletaris species is like that. Their brains can’t forget anything. Quite phenomenal. I don’t suppose humans have any genetic relation to them?”

Carried away in his enthusiasm, Coran’s now leaning all the way across his console, peering at Keith with an enthusiastic squinty eye.

“I - don’t think so,” Keith says. 

“You don’t have the long snouts, anyway,” Coran admits, pulling back with a sigh. “Worth a shot. I’ll admit, I do find it unlikely that _all_ of Shiro’s memories have returned overnight. Is that what you were concerned about?”

Concerned?

“Maybe,” Keith admits, slowly. “I just...”

It’s difficult to put into words. Shiro’s struggled with memory loss before; his missing year with the Galra wasn’t kind. At least then, though, Shiro had known who he was. He’d known Keith, and he’d known - all kinds of things. To have Shiro so totally lost like this - 

It’s hard. It’s really, really hard. Keith’s not sure what the alternative is, but last night had at least given him some sort of bitter hope. If Shiro remembered, that could only be good. Even if the physical regression remains in place, Shiro would _remember._ He’d know them. He’d know Keith. He’d know himself. They could work on all the rest. With Shiro back, at least mentally, things would be easier. 

Right?

“I understand,” Coran says, when Keith doesn’t continue. Coran leans against the console of his lab, thoughtful. The screens tick away behind him, populating on their own. “Perhaps he did remember a little something. That’s possible. If it was _everything -_ surely he’d say? Shiro isn’t the type to keep that big of a secret.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, reluctant. Shiro’s not that good of an actor. Not with Keith. Keith’s just hoping too hard. “He’s got something new in there, though, something he did remember last night. He said he thought I’d laugh at him.”

“Is that the Shiro you know?” Coran asks. Keith shakes his head. “I thought not. This little ‘something new’ has alarmed him, perhaps, but _we_ can’t be alarmed about it until Shiro says what it is. It’ll come out in time. We just have to be patient for a little longer.”

_Patience yields focus._ Keith squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I know.”

“We’re doing all we can,” Coran says, kindly. “Shiro’s safe, he’s happy, and he’s alright until this research translation comes through. Are there other things you’ve noticed? Other changes in him that’s startling?”

Keith frowns. “Besides randomly remembering Pidge?”

“Physically,” Coran specifies. Behind him the data scrolls, endless white text on blue backgrounds. “Any sudden growth spurts, any new dexterity or agility? Anything like that.”

“No.” Keith’s picked Shiro up often enough over the last few days; he’d know if Shiro’d suddenly gained more weight or height. And the clothes Lance bought just two days ago still fit perfectly. “He’s still the same size as when we found him.”

“Hmm.” Coran taps a distinct command to the computer. A seventh screen illuminates between him and Keith, projecting rough diagrams of human shapes and statistics that Coran scrolls through with both hands. Keith moves for a better view, but Coran’s too quick, settling on a comparison of an adult biotype against the small draft of a child’s. “Nothing abnormal? No growths, no odd behaviors?”

_Shiro’s gaze, distant and fixed on the wall past Keith’s shoulder. His irises blown wide, glowing soft, full gold._

_“Keith,” Pidge had breathed, urgent and panicked._

_“Did his eyes turn bright yellow and glowy?” Hunk had blurted, during their hasty meeting before breakfast. “I - holy quiznack, he did that with me two days ago -”_

Keith hesitates. Is it - possible Coran would know what the glowy-eye-thing might be? Keith hadn’t mentioned it to Allura in their conversation yesterday; forgiveness stretches far, sure, but not that fast. Today, though, with Shiro upstairs running a little fever - avoiding Keith -

Maybe...maybe the time for keeping secrets has passed. Maybe Coran could help. 

“Actually,” Keith starts, slowly. “There is - ”

One of the monitors beeps, a bright _ping._

“Hold that thought,” Coran says, raising a finger in Keith’s direction. With his other hand he swings over the beeping screen - the fourth one, blinking bright. The fifth _pings_ too, almost triumphant. 

“Impossible,” Coran breathes, his eyes widening. The data continues to scroll, but some of the lines have turned green - same as a line on the now-pinging third panel. “I’ve seen this pattern before!”

“You have?” Keith asks, surprised. He leans forward immediately, but Coran’s flicking through the data too fast, green and white text flashing, and Keith can’t keep track. “What is this? The Nafralians?”

“I saw this yesterday,” Coran says, half to himself. He condenses the fourth and fifth screens to overlap; pulls the third over, scanning frantically. The second screen flashes brightly, beeping too. “Or the day before - I can’t recall exactly, but this - I don’t believe it. The ol’ computer’s found something!”

Hope lights in Keith’s chest, so fierce it hurts. “Is the translation done?”

“Very nearly,” Coran confirms. He taps a series of commands onto the projected keyboard; the screens continue their cheerful output, now much more optimistic. “Done enough for the computer to begin its cross-referencing. I’ll need to change the search parameters, but - this is amazing. Astounding. I hadn’t expected -”

Keith can’t keep it in any longer. “Then we can turn Shiro back?”

“We’re certainly closer than we have been,” Coran admits. “If there’s a solution in here, Number Four, we’ll find it. We’re almost there. Now, what were you saying?”

Behind Coran - in front of him - the data populates, blue intermingled with hopeful green. It’s a far cry better than mere minutes ago. Coran’s surrounded by the panels, the glow of the technology bright and earnest in his tired face. He’s been working so hard on this. It isn’t fair of Keith to burden him with something that - maybe - might not matter. Not when they’re - finally - _maybe -_ so close.

“It can wait,” Keith says.

Lance and Shiro are in the Movie Lounge when Keith finds them some time later. There’s a movie playing on the screen: two lions tussle to a swelling soundtrack, magnificent and calm all at the same time. For a moment Keith lingers in the door, hesitant. The lights are dim, turned low. Shiro’s tucked into Lance’s side, curled up under one of the blankets usually left haphazardly over the back of the couch. His head is on Lance’s leg, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even and calm. Lance has a data pad open in his left hand, casually scrolling through whatever he’s reading. His right hand lingers just near Shiro’s ear, running absently over Shiro’s short hair every time their friend so much as twitches.

It’s a bit like watching two statues, frozen in time.

Keith’s learned a lot about Shiro since this whole terrible process started, sure, but he’s also learning a lot about Lance.

“Hey,” Lance greets him, as Keith walks quietly across the room. Keith props his forearms on the back of the tall couch, leaning over; Lance tilts his head back to view him better. “You can pick the next movie if you want. Neither of us are really watching.”

Keith blinks. “Shiro doesn’t like this one?”

Lance scoffs, but it’s fond. “Of course he does. Kind of doubt he’ll notice if we put something else on though. I’m just finishing this as a matter of principle.”

Onscreen the two lions are arguing about something - responsibility? Keith’s not sure. Shiro sighs in his sleep, little nose twitching. Lance soothes him without even sparing any attention, fingers gently running through Shiro’s short hair until their friend settles, quiet again and out like a light.

“How is he?” Keith asks.

Lance shifts his hand, pressing his palm to Shiro’s forehead instead. He frowns. “I’m not sure. Better? He said his head hurt earlier. Mostly he’s just been sleeping.”

Huh. Keith frowns, shifting his weight. “Hope he isn’t coming down with something.”

“Same,” Lance agrees. Shiro’s terrible immune system is already infamous after his time with the Galra; the last thing any of them need right now is for him to have caught some sort of bug, too. It’s the last thing _Shiro_ needs, on top of everything else. “Maybe he’s just - adjusting. To this. You think?”

“I hope not,” Keith says. He hesitates - lets it go. “I talked to Coran. He might’ve found something.”

Lance looks up immediately, twisting back towards Keith. “Really? What’d he say?”

“Some of his text cross-referenced,” Keith explains. “I think. He’s almost done with the translation. He sounded hopeful.”

“That’s _awesome,”_ Lance says, fervently. “How much longer did he think it would be? Did he say?”

Shiro stirs beneath Lance’s hand, a tiny little groan breaking from his throat. Lance shushes him again easily, stroking Shiro’s hair until the little Paladin calms.

“He didn’t,” Keith continues softly, once Shiro is still. “But he’s been working really hard. We’ve got to be close.”

“We will be,” Lance says. His gaze is on Shiro, steady and soft. Keith reaches over the back of the couch, readjusting the blanket. “Thanks. You sticking around?”

Keith blinks. Onscreen, the big male lion is chasing a…monkey? “What is this?”

Lance tilts his head back up in alarm, gaping. “You’ve - _what?_ You’ve never seen The Lion King?”

Definitely a lion chasing a monkey. Keith couldn’t make this up if he tried. “Why would I have seen a movie about a monkey?”

“Okay, no, _not_ acceptable.” Lance somehow manages to grab the remote tucked under his knee and pat the spot on the couch next to him all in the same motion - without dislodging Shiro so much as an inch. “Get down here. We’re starting over right now.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says hastily, though he does curve around the couch to the front. “No, really. Shiro’ll probably want to watch this again, yeah? I’ll catch the beginning then.”

Lance pauses, finger already on the remote. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Don’t stop for me.”

“…alright.”

Lance settles back against the couch, and though he turns his gaze away from Keith and back down to their sleeping friend, Keith can’t quite do the same. Even while teasing him, Lance’s interactions have been nothing but - openly accepting. Lance has validated Keith’s lack of experience and his concern every single step of the way thus far, nearly this entire time. He’s never outright said it, but through his tacit approval of Keith’s tactics, he’s giving Keith permission to be worried. To be nerdy, to be out of context, to take the moments as they come. He doesn’t say Keith’s overreacting; he doesn’t call Keith’s concern _silly_. There’s literally zero judgement coming from Lance in this moment - nothing but focus, calm and dedicated, the same focus he gave Shiro when talking him down out of that cell.

It’s…disconcerting.

“You’re good at this,” Keith blurts, before he can help himself.

Lance doesn’t take offense or seek clarification. “I have a lot of cousins.” He shifts his leg under Shiro ever-so-slightly; Shiro doesn’t wake. “Used to do this a lot.”

“You ever miss them?” Keith asks carefully, settling himself on the floor after checking that if Shiro woke up Keith’s head wouldn’t block his view.

“Every day,” Lance says, fiercely. “You? Do you miss Earth?”

Keith thinks about the solid ground beneath his feet. People who kicked him out onto it, nearly every step of his life. People who don’t know him anymore - people who don’t care where he’d gone, where he’d go. The one person who’s ever cared, lost and then found and now lost again, fast asleep within easy reach. 

The one person who’s looked out for him, who Keith has to look out for now, surrounded by friends in the one place Keith might be willing to possibly admit…

…maybe, if it’s okay to be worried, it’s okay to admit that Keith needs this kind of grounding home, too.

“No,” he says. “There’s nothing there for me.”

Everything he needs is here, in one form or another. This, if Keith’s willing to make an admission, even to himself in the darkest quietest moments of solitude - 

\- this unexpected, unorthodox, unpredictable group of people and tasks and surprises is _home_.

Lance doesn’t comment on what Keith said; maybe he isn’t sure how. Maybe he doesn’t need to. Their worlds are very different; their homesickness different, too. That’s fine. They’ll get through this. They’re a team, now.

They can do this.

_Remember,_ murmurs a ghost cloud-lion on screen. Shiro doesn’t stir. Keith tugs the slipping blanket up over Shiro’s shoulders, tucking in even closer. _Remember who you are._

_He’s going to,_ Keith promises whoever’s listening. _We’ve got him. We’re going to get Shiro through this._

No matter what it takes.

One and a half repeats of _The Lion King_ later, Shiro wakes up for lunch. The extra sleep appears to have helped; Lance declares the fever gone and Shiro doesn’t say anything about his head hurting.  He lets Keith carry him to the dining room, but doesn’t offer any answers or much of anything at all. With Lance there Keith isn’t sure how to press. Shiro doesn’t comment on the little sandwiches Hunk presents them with; Shiro says absolutely nothing the entire time, staring at his plate. This time it’s Lance sending Keith the worried look; Lance, raising a concerned eyebrow across the table. Keith can’t offer answers he doesn’t have.

_It’ll come out in time,_ Coran had said. _We just have to be patient._

Patience.

Keith has to trust that.

Everyone’s there for once. Pidge is flushed with the glow of success, chattering a mile a minute at Coran as Hunk interjects with details about her project. Coran’s listening intently, offering counter arguments as Pidge demonstrates, flexing her fingers for emphasis. Lance cracks a joke; Hunk hits him fondly over the head. Even Allura’s interested, digging into her own lunch portion and interjecting with her own questions. The conversation flows around them. Keith finds himself participating; he finds himself looking back over.

Shiro hasn’t so much as touched his lunch.

“You okay, bud?” Hunk asks, at last. “It’s fine if it’s not to your taste. I can make you something else. Grilled cheese again? What’s your favorite?” 

Shiro looks up, finally - but instead of any interest or joy, his eyes are filled with a clear mixture of resigned surprise.

“You don’t know?” Shiro asks. It’s the first words he’s spoken since this morning.

Hunk blinks, taken aback. The plate of sandwiches clatters as he sets it back down. “What?”

“We’re supposed to be friends,” Shiro says. Silence is falling around the room, quiet and low and dangerous. This is….this…? “Right? We’re friends, but you don’t know what my favorite food is?”

“Of course Hunk knows,” Lance covers quickly, leaning in. “It’s - uh - “

“It’s macaroni and cheese,” Keith interjects. Shiro’s attention swivels towards him. “Right? The powdered stuff.”

Lance blanches, disgusted. “Like the stuff from the Garrison? Shiro, gross!”

Shiro says, very slowly and carefully, “The Garrison?”

Lance pales. Absolute silence falls over the room. Even the mice are quiet, clustered around Shiro’s bowl and frozen upwards in concern. 

“Y-yeah,” Lance manages. “Did I say Garrison? I meant - uh -”

“Harrison,” Hunk tries, overlapping fast. “Uh, it’s his - “

“Hardison," Pidge says at the exact same moment, “Like from -”

“What is macaroni and cheese?” Coran interrupts, over all of them. “Is this an earth delicacy?”

“Shiro,” Allura tries, “perhaps Hunk could prepare this sort of dish for you?“

“Yeah, I’m totally willing,” Hunk babbles, seizing on the opportunity, “I think we got the stuff, right?”

Keith doesn’t know what to say. Shiro’s gaze slides from a flustered Lance to a stammering Hunk to Pidge to Allura to Coran and finally - finally - settling on Keith for the first time all morning.

He doesn’t look guilty. His grey eyes are perfectly, utterly focused, broken only by a clarifying confusion and a distinct, blooming hurt.

“Shiro -”

“Stop,” Shiro cries. The noise level in the room instantly ceases. 

“Shiro?” Allura asks, incredibly, carefully deliberate.

“Stop it,” Shiro repeats, shaking his head. Lance moves closer; Shiro flinches back. Lance recoils but not before Keith can notice the flash of hurt on his face, too. “None of you are making sense. This isn’t making sense!”

“What isn’t?” Keith asks even as he tries to keep the words back. He has to _know_.

It settles, whatever this is, as a slow advent of dawning pieces. Shiro shakes his head, trying to clear cobwebs that don’t make sense either, a ticking clock that Keith _knew_ was going to run out sooner or later. They’re here. They’re at an end. Is it - _possible_ \- 

No. Not in as many words. When Shiro looks up his gaze isn’t the familiar astute clarity Keith’s used to seeing. There’s no understanding in this Shiro, no depths of comprehension and wise acceptance of the situation. Shiro’s eyes are young, grayly clear, and intensely, desperately hurt.

He turns in his seat, ignoring Keith, ignoring Lance and Pidge and Hunk and the mice and even Coran. Shiro turns and makes direct eye contact with Allura, equally stunned, equally paralyzed with shock.

Shiro says, “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, feel free to drop me a comment! :) comments help me write faster.....  
> You're also always welcome to visit me on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com). Come yell.
> 
> >:33 next chapter up someday................thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Allura keeps her word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Two chapters in one week! :) Sometimes the world just needs some smol!Shiro....
> 
> As usual, all the love and thanks to my beta, [Andy](http://ashinan.tumblr.com), for her painstaking work and encouragement on this chapter. This one's a doozy and I could not have done it without her. <3
> 
> And now at last............the fabled Chapter Eleven. I'm so pleased we're finally here. :) Enjoy!

The silence that greets Shiro’s question is horrid and thick.

Allura’s the first to break it, swallowing imperceptibly to regain her calm. She takes a slow breath, the slightest flare of her nostrils - but maintains eye contact with Shiro the entire time, unflinching. Shiro’s gaze on her is steady, determined, and quietly upset.

“Don’t be silly, Shiro,” Allura says. Every word is chosen carefully, each syllable uttered as a deliberate test across uneven ground. “Why would we keep something from you?”

“I’m not silly,” Shiro insists, frowning. If he was standing he’d have his feet planted and firm; as it is, his jaw is set in a stubborn clench that Keith recognizes immediately. Shiro’s lunch sits on the table, untouched. “Everyone keeps talking like I’m not here. I’ve noticed. I’m not blind.”

“No, but you are tired,” Allura says instead, gently. Her soothing tone does nothing to assuage the low panic building in Keith’s chest. The situation is fragile, a ticking clock. Maybe there’s no way out. There are so many pieces to this, so many components that Keith and Pidge and Lance and Hunk have all juggled, tirelessly, over the last three days. They’ve tried, all of them. If Allura can’t turn the situation around, if she can’t buy them the extra day or two or however long it takes Coran to finish translating that research -

“And I know you aren’t feeling well,” Allura continues. “It’s understandable, Shiro, especially after everything you’ve been through in the last-”

“Which is what?” Shiro demands, without missing a beat. Allura pauses, eyes widening just a fraction. Caught. “You found me with those aliens on Nafrali, right? Hunk said you came after me because I’m important. Why?”

“Because you’re Shiro,” Lance interjects smoothly. Allura casts him a grateful look. “We’re always going to come find you. Hunk tell you that?”

“Yes,” Shiro says and the word is true even if uncertainty quivers under his tone. He casts a tentative look across the table at Hunk. Hunk smiles back, but the warmth of the gesture does nothing to dispel the deep doubt and fear settling in Shiro’s gaze. Keith frowns. “But - _why_ was I with the aliens in the first place? Is that what you’re not telling me?”

Allura shakes her head, regaining control. Her earrings sway with the movement. “Shiro, no one is - ”

Shiro shoves his untouched lunch away from him, vicious and upset. “Don’t _lie_ to me!”

“Shiro,” Lance tries again, scooting closer. Shiro pulls back; Lance stops, alarmed. “It’s okay. You’re just tired -”

“No,” Shiro insists, shaking his head. Hot tears spring to his eyes, threatening. “No, I’m not. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense!”

Next to Allura’s chair Coran straightens, frowning.

“What doesn’t make sense, Number Six?” he asks, gently.

Allura shoots her advisor a look. “Coran, is this really -”

“Apologies, Princess,” Coran says. He doesn’t take his eyes off Shiro whatsoever. “But I think this has been building up for quite some time. Hasn’t it, Shiro?”

Shiro stills.

“You tried to tell me the other day,” Coran says. His voice is low, self-reflective and calm. “I wasn’t listening. We’ll listen now. Go ahead.”

Shiro’s gaze flits away from Coran to Allura. She says nothing - what can she say, that wouldn’t dig them in deeper? Shiro’s eyes shift to Lance, to Hunk, to Pidge and finally over to Keith. He looks down at the mice, the four of them clustered near his lunch and blinking up at him, too.

Shiro’s hesitating.

“Remember the part three days ago where I said this was a bad idea,” Hunk whispers.

“Shh,” Pidge says.

Shiro’s forehead furrows as he thinks, hard, staring down at his plate. He gathers up his courage; struggles with a sentence deep inside. The rest of them can do nothing but wait, nothing but watch, nothing but hold their breaths and listen for the ticking of the clock. Keith’s heart is pounding.

Is this it? Whatever Shiro was avoiding telling Keith this morning - whatever Shiro remembered last night. _If_ he remembered.

Is this - the moment?

At last - at _last -_ Shiro raises his head. He doesn’t look at Keith - or at any of the Paladins waiting, frozen, for the shoe to drop. Shiro meets Allura’s eyes once again.

“Did the aliens cut off my arm?” Shiro says, all at once and bravely. His lower lip trembles. “Is that why everyone’s lying to me?”

Lance gapes. Pidge pales. Keith -

\- _that is not what Keith was expecting._

“This is the part where we remember I said this was a really bad idea,” Hunk says, weakly.

Despite their best intentions, the lines surrounding telling Shiro _nothing_ have been thoroughly, absolutely shot. The game’s been lost from the moment Lance first took Shiro down to officially meet Blue. The Paladins - and Allura and Coran - have been playing defense. Nothing more.

They’ve underestimated, and the damage has been done.

Allura swallows, drawing herself up. Her posture is regal, her eyes determined. Shiro stares up at her, chin set and stubborn.

“Aliens did take your arm,” Allura says, bluntly, surprising all of them. It is not precisely a lie; it is not precisely the truth. Shiro gapes, frozen in horror as she continues. Keith can barely breathe. “In a matter of speaking -”

“But it’s not possible,” Shiro whispers. All the blood’s drained from his face. Chulatt squeaks, alarmed. “How long was I with the aliens?”

“Not long,” Keith says, immediately.

Shiro shakes his head, breaths ragged and just this side of frantic. Confused. “But - but - how did they have enough _time?_ Pidge says I lost the arm a long time ago. If I wasn’t with the aliens long at all - then - how can that all be true?”

“Pidge,” Lance groans.

“No, no way,” Pidge starts, “You didn’t see how he - “

“Hunk said so too,” Shiro overlaps, regaining himself. Hunk sputters a defense, but Shiro isn’t done. “All these scars, everything - both of you said it’s been a while. Pidge said the arm was gone before I met you, and that it’s been gone a while too. But if _Allura_ says the aliens took my arm - but Keith says I wasn’t with them long at all? Which is it?”

“Allow me to finish,” Allura tries -

 _“No,”_ Shiro wails. Allura freezes, jaw agape. “No, stop lying to me! What’s going on? If I really did lose my arm with those aliens _three days ago,_ why doesn’t it hurt more? If it wasn’t - if I was there longer - then why did you take so long to rescue me?”

“Shiro,” Keith starts, “Shiro, we didn’t -”

“Then I wasn’t with them long,” Shiro concludes. His tone’s changed; the words are pointed and deliberate. There’s a clarity in his gaze that wasn’t there before. A sharpness, less of the child-like panic and more - more -  Keith sits straight up. Shiro continues, eyes flashing. “Which means they didn’t take my arm. Which means I lost it somehow else. Which means it was a long time ago, which means Hunk and Pidge were right. Yes?”

“Yes,” Coran says, before any of them can decide or even think.

“But then _why build me one now?”_ Shiro’s voice shakes, the words tumbling out of him in bewildered anger. “If you’ve known me that long - why is Pidge only doing this _now?”_

Allura sets her hand on the table, palm up. “Shiro, these things take time -”

“How much time?” Shiro insists. “When did I have two arms? How long have you known me?”

“Shiro,” Lance tries, rising slightly from his seat. “Hey, this doesn’t matter -”

“It _does matter!”_ Shiro demands. Chuchule squeaks and darts behind Platt, hiding. “You said so yourself, Lance! You forgot I’m right-handed. Why would you forget that, if you know me?”

His gaze turns startlingly self-reflective, dropping to his plate.

“Why would _I_ forget that,” Shiro whispers.

Lance’s jaw drops, mouth slack in ashamed horror. “You - heard me?”

“He heard you,” Pidge confirms. Her eyes are wide behind her glasses. “Shiro -”

Shiro shakes his head, miserable. “No. Why wouldn’t I - why don’t I _know_ this? I can’t color, I can’t use a spoon, I can’t open doors - I can’t do anything. Why? How long has it been since I’ve had two arms? Why would I forget _everything?”_

“Okay, clearly this is a conversation for another time,” Lance says, desperately trying to steer the conversation. Keith can’t - the situation has completely spiraled. “Shiro, Allura’s right. You’re still not feeling well - ”

Shiro slams his little fist on the table. The impact is negligible. “This _is_ the time! Why won’t you listen to me? Is it because I’m small? Is that why I can’t go see the Lions?”

“We are not discussing the Lions,” Allura says firmly.

“Because of the Galra?” Shiro asks, point-blank.

Shock ricochets around the table, violent and fierce. Keith reels, horrified. He can’t - he - _how did Shiro find out?_

Keith casts his mind wildly back over every conversation he’s had around Shiro in the last seventy-two hours; from the frantic look in their eyes, both Coran and Pidge are doing the same. Hunk’s gone pale. Lance is gaping, stunned. Shiro stares at Allura, his mouth set in a determined, angry pout. Allura stares back, horrified and quite, quite caught.

“Who told you?” she manages, at last.

“So they are real,” Shiro breathes, his eyes widening incrementally. “I - Lance thought I was asleep.”

“Nice going, Lance,” Keith snaps.

 _“Me?!”_ Lance squawks.

“I _heard you,”_ Shiro interrupts, startling them both utterly. “You and Hunk, two - two nights ago. Everyone’s tiptoeing around it, but I _know._ The Galra - every hero has bad guys, right? Hunk said so. And I - ”

He pauses abruptly, sucking in an alarmed breath.

“What is it, Shiro?” Coran asks, quietly. He’s the only one with a voice; Keith doesn’t even know where to begin. So much is happening. So much is _wrong._ The rules are overturning; the battle, somehow, has already swung.

Shiro swallows, staring down at Plachu. His hand drifts towards the stump of his right arm, fingers clinging nervously.

“Are they purple?” he whispers. “All kinds? Do they have - weird ears?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Coran acknowledges, softly. Keith’s blood runs cold. “Why, Shiro?”

Keith doesn’t want to hear this.

Keith _has to know._

“I see them,” Shiro admits, low and miserable. Plachu and Chuchule scurry across the table, squeaking up at him. Shiro shakes his head, distressed. “At least - I think it’s them. In my dreams. They’re purple and big and they - they have this man on a table and they won’t let him _go.”_

No.

It hits like a sucker punch to the gut, fast and blindingly obvious only in hindsight. Keith gapes, utterly reeling. All this time he’d thought - he’d thought Shiro had only been dreaming of what the aliens did to him down on the planet, caught and surrounded by a purple beam of intense, frightening light. But the aliens’ ears hadn’t been visible beneath their hoods, and they hadn’t been Galra. Pidge had been very clear about that. If Shiro’s dreaming of the _Galra -_

Then _the man on the table_ makes an entirely different, horrifying sort of sense.

Judging from everyone else’s shell-shocked expressions, they’ve reached exactly the same heartbreaking conclusion.

“It hurts,” Shiro whispers, eyes distant. He’s staring at the mice, at Platt who’s abandoned Shiro’s lunch in concern. Shiro stares, but doesn’t see them at all. “The man - he’s begging. They won’t let him _go.”_

“Shiro,” Keith says, urgently. Shiro flinches away when Keith reaches for him, shaking his head viciously.

“So they’re r-real,” Shiro stutters, tripping over the word. His eyes lock on Allura, confused and desperately lost. Shiro’s shaking. “W-why am I dreaming about them every time I go to sleep?”

Allura draws in a shaky breath, composing herself. She tilts her chin up, but something is missing from the gesture. Shiro’s questions have rattled her, badly.

“The Galra,” she begins, words as careful as one skating over ice, “are no one you need to concern yourself over -”

“Please stop lying,” Shiro says, so very quiet. “I’m small, not stupid. There’s nothing for me on this ship. I have my own room here, but no clothes? You had to go buy some. If it’s my room after all, why are the drawers full of clothes that don’t fit me?”

“Oh, um, well,” Coran starts smoothly, snapping his fingers. Shiro’s gaze jerks to him. “The room’s previous occupant agreed -“

Shiro’s eyes widen further, impossibly. “So there was someone there before me. Who?”

Coran pales a little, taken aback. “Well, I- ”

“Who?” Shiro demands.

“That’s enough,” Allura says, firmly. She sets her other hand down on the table, both palms pressing flat against the surface. “We’ve spoken enough about this for today. Shiro, I am sorry you do not feel well, but the issue at hand -”

Shiro’s entire face falls, not with the rush of draining anger but with a wave of desperate, horrible hurt.

“I knew it,” he breathes, miserable.

Allura pauses. “Knew...what?”

Shiro shakes his head again, slumping in his seat. He ducks his head quickly, but not enough: his lower lip is trembling, hard.

“Oh no,” Lance says, standing, “Shiro - ”

“Aw, Shiro, don’t cry,” Hunk blurts, rising too. Coran pulls a handkerchief hastily from his pocket; Pidge yanks it out of his hand and passes it across the table to Keith, who grabs it hurriedly.

“Shiro,” Keith says, crouching by Shiro’s chair with the handkerchief in hand. Shiro refuses to take it from him, refuses to meet his eyes. “Hey. Look at me. Allura didn’t mean it -”

“She _does,”_ Shiro hiccups - not a sob, but quite close.

“She doesn’t,” Lance insists, glancing in alarm at Allura. Allura raises her hands, empty. “C’mon, _chico._ Tell us. What did you know?”

Shiro hesitates, shoulders shaking. His lip quivers as he sucks in a wet, miserable breath.

It must make an interesting sort of picture: lunch completely forgotten on the table, all six of them focused intently around their little friend. Coran stands ramrod straight by Allura’s chair; Hunk and Pidge lean across the table, both upset. Keith crouches by Shiro’s chair, with Lance on the other side. Even the mice are alert, clumped together in a group by Shiro’s forgotten lunch as they all wait for the truth.

At last, after a long, terrible moment, Shiro speaks. His voice is so quiet even Keith has to strain for the words.

“You don’t want me,” Shiro whispers.

The shock strikes Keith like a blow. Lance recoils against the table, stunned; Allura’s jaw drops.

 _“What?!”_ Pidge yelps.

“What?!” Hunk echoes, large hands flailing in panic. “Where did that come from?!”

“You _don’t,”_ Shiro cries, finally looking up. Two large tears slip down his cheeks. “You all keep looking at me like you’re expecting someone else. There’s s-someone else who used to be here: someone’s clothes, someone’s room, someone’s _everything_ and someone you’d rather have who isn’t me. Th-that’s why you’re l-l-lying. You can’t - you c-can’t - you could j-just _say!”_

“Shiro,” Allura whispers. Heartbreak is etched in every line of her fallen face.

“Just s-say you’d rather have s-someone else,” Shiro manages. His chin wobbles, fingers gripping the stump of his arm and the sleeve of his sweater like a lifeline. More hot tears slip down his cheeks, large and terrible. “I - it’s f-f-fine if you don’t w-want me. I just - I - I - I want to go _home.”_

As one, in unison, and with no consultation whatsoever, every single one of the grown Paladins turns their gaze upon Allura.

 _“Small or not, Shiro’s gonna figure something out,”_ Hunk had said, that first fateful conversation. The conversation that’s ruined everything; the conversation that started it all. _“We shouldn’t keep him in the dark.”_

 _“And if he does, I will answer,”_ Allura promised.

The time has come.

Allura’s face softens as she gazes down at Shiro, their stricken, ill, and miserable Paladin. Keith and the others have the distinct honor of watching Princess Allura keep her word.

“No,” Allura says, kindly, “Of course we want you, Shiro. Don’t cry.”

It’s far too late. Shiro’s sniffling, desperately trying to stop the tears slipping down his cheeks - trying to hide them by rubbing them away with his only hand. “It’s okay - you _d-don’t-_ ”

“No, it is not okay,” Allura corrects. She rises from her chair in a smooth, fluid motion. Her dress ripples around her as she crosses over to Shiro’s chair, crouching down to his height at last. “It is my fault we have gone this far. Chin up, little Paladin. Can you look at me?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Shiro hiccups. “I’m _n-not_ a Paladin. You have to be _big_ to be a D-defender of the Universe, even if you don’t have a L-lion. Lance said so.”

Allura draws in a deep breath.

“Lance is not wrong,” Princess Allura says. “And neither are you.”

Her words shatter into the silence like stars falling over deep, reflective water. Shiro’s face is a study to behold. His little brows narrow in utter confusion, pinching together as he looks sharply up at Allura. The shock completely stops his tears.

“What?” Shiro whispers.

“Neither of you are incorrect,” Allura says, impossibly, perfectly steady. A princess keeps her promises. A princess corrects mistakes. Keith’s reluctantly impressed. “You are one of us, little Paladin. That’s why the - _aliens_ took you from us in the first place. They hoped to strike us down by attacking you.”

Although it’s the truth, Keith winces at Shiro’s flinch.

“Allura,” Hunk says, sharply.

“It is part of the story, is it not?” Allura retorts. “It is the beginning. It’s imperative Shiro understands, if we’re to have it all out there.”

Shiro swallows, little chin setting stubbornly. Bravery in the face of impossible circumstances. Keith’s not sure he’ll ever stop being surprised by Shiro’s sheer stubborn determination. “Understand what?”

“Exactly why it is that we _do_ want you,” Allura powers through. The subject change, her masterful treatment of the material, is stunning. “You are correct about many things, but not that one. Absolutely not that one. We saved you from the aliens, Shiro, and we’re doing everything in our power to undo what was done to you. Our reaction, our treatment of you, has nothing to do with not wanting you. If we look at you strangely, seeming to ‘expect’ someone else, it is because we are doing everything in our power to undo what was done to you. Absolutely everything. Can you understand that?”

“So the aliens did do something to me, and you rescued me,” Shiro breathes. The veil of confusion has yet to leave his eyes. “But - _why?_ Why _me?_ Hunk said -”

“And Hunk is correct,” Allura continues, gently. The balance between _gentle_ and _firm_ that she strikes is an impossible, steady sort of calm. “The aliens went after you because you are one of us, Shiro. The reason you can’t remember things, the reason things don’t make sense, is because you used to be someone different. You can’t remember it. We do.”

Shiro’s eyes widen further, violently big. _“Me?”_

“You,” Allura confirms.

Keith waits. Shiro’s eyes flicker from Allura down to the table; to Keith, an unspoken question. Keith nods.

“Different how?” Shiro whispers. A slight tremble’s begun in his shoulders; Keith places his hand on Shiro’s upper back carefully, grounding him. Shiro’s staring at Allura again, mouth agape with the shock and the revelation.

The Princess of Altea makes perfect eye contact with the shrunken and confused Black Paladin. She is so steady, firm, and unwavering as she corrects this mistake that even Keith cannot take his eyes away from her.

Allura steels her shoulders.

“Because you are a Paladin, little one,” she says, softly, “You used to be big, too.”

 

 

Everything stops.

 

 

Shiro frowns, brows drawn together, thinking hard. “Big?”

“Big,” Pidge confirms gently. Her smile doesn’t entirely reach her eyes.

“That’s why you rescued me,” Shiro breathes. The fingers on his only hand clench and unfurl. Hesitating. Searching. Gripping for something that isn’t quite there.

“Yes,” Hunk says. Shiro’s eyes flick up to him. “I told you, right? We’ll always come for you.”

Shiro looks from Hunk to Coran, who nods in affirmation; to Lance, leaning against the table. He looks to Pidge; he turns over his shoulder to Keith, still grounding him. Shiro blinks, a slow drag of lids over grey eyes shifting from confusion to a hesitant clarity. His gaze drags over the mice, gathered on the table. “That’s why - the things I don’t remember?”

“Yep,” Lance agrees. “But we’ve got you there, too, yeah? You’re okay. Until we figure this out, I promise you’re okay.”

Shiro’s frown only deepens, thinking so hard Keith can almost see the wheels turning in his little head. “Does that….is that why you call me ‘little’ Paladin? But I don’t…I don’t have a Lion. Don’t you need one…?”

“Allura,” Lance says, pointedly dragging out every syllable of her name.

“That’s too much,” Keith snaps, before Allura can. The idea of Shiro making a run for it, going for the zipline still all of three feet tall - Keith can’t. Shiro’s too _small._

“Let her talk, we’re already in this mess from keeping one secret,” Pidge says, trying for sense. “Uh, from several secrets? Keeping another one’s just going to make it worse.”

“Shh,” Hunk hisses, “Guys!”

Shiro’s not listening, staring hard at the table. He lifts his head, frowning still. “Is that - is that why…?”

He stops.

“Why what, Shiro?” Pidge prompts, and all six of them brace for the inevitable, Lion-counting conclusion.

Shiro’s seen the Black Lion since this whole mess began. All that needs to be done is to put two and three together. The revelation is inevitable.

Paladins, Alteans, and mice brace themselves, but the obvious isn’t what they’re expecting.

“The _man,”_ Shiro whispers instead, and that’s not confusion coloring his words: that’s pure, heartbreaking fear. “On the - with the -”

“Oh no,” Lance realizes immediately, leaning into Shiro’s field of vision. “Shiro?”

Shiro does not reply. He’s staring over Lance’s head now, over the curl of his cowlick, gaze locked firm on the opposite wall. There’s nothing special about the door to the kitchen that he stares at; no. What’s odd about this moment is trapped in the way Shiro’s eyes have widened _even further._ It’s in his tense shoulders beneath Keith’s palm, in the ricocheting terror and cold realization emanating from their friend’s small, small form.

“Shiro?” Keith asks.

Shiro doesn’t reply. His hand clenches and unclenches, his shoulders shake. He doesn’t respond, mouth slightly agape.

“Shiro!”

The pupils and irises of Shiro’s wide, unseeing eyes glow a bright, soft, burning gold.

The dining room erupts in motion. Pidge knocks her chair over with how fast she stands; Hunk nearly bowls over the mice in his hurry to get around the table. Allura pulls back, alarmed; Lance swoops right in to take her place, his hand going automatically to Shiro’s shoulder. Keith’s got Shiro’s other shoulder, holding Shiro safe between them. Coran hovers immediately behind Allura, bracing and concerned. The mice squeak in alarm, racing forwards all the way to the edge of the table. Shiro’s in the middle of it all, staring wordlessly, his eyes bright and glowing.

 _“That’s_ what it looks like?!” Lance blurts.

“That’s what it looks like,” Hunk confirms weakly.

“What do we do?” Lance asks immediately. His hand settles on the back of Shiro’s neck, careful and grounding. It works for nightmares. It doesn’t work now. “What do we do when this happens?”

“Quiet,” Keith says, urgently. There’s no time for this. Every second that ticks by could be doing more and more damage the team has no way of knowing about. They have to break Shiro out of this. “Shiro!”

“Impossible,” Allura breathes, outraged. “How _dare she.”_

Such furious alarm races beneath her words that everyone in the room turns to her, equally shocked.

“What?” Pidge repeats, confused. “Who’s ‘she’?”

“You’ve seen this too?” Lance demands.

“You’ve seen Shiro do this before?” Hunk exclaims, panicked.

“But this is impossible,” Coran insists, shaking his head. “With the regression - ”

“I thought so as well,” Allura says, firm. “I made myself quite clear -”

“You did _what?”_ Lance asks.

“Shiro,” Keith urges, “Shiro, can you hear me?”

“This is a long one,” Hunk groans, wringing at his hands. “Shiro?”

“What did you say?” Coran asks Allura. “What did you say to her _exactly?”_

“Who’s ‘she’?” Pidge repeats, louder.

“Not to interfere,” Allura clarifies to Coran. “Nothing more than Shiro can handle. He still cannot know that depth of his responsibility; what if he takes it upon himself to save the universe _anyway_? It’s bad enough that he knows that’s what we do, if he knows that he’s _also_ -”

“Less talking, more explaining,” Lance demands, over everyone’s protests. “Allura, do you know what’s happening?”

Allura falters.

 _“Allura,"_ Keith snaps. It’s the final straw. Beneath his palm Shiro’s still tense and quivering, the longest pause yet.

Allura looks at Keith, looks down at Shiro and his still-glowing eyes. The look on her face is part anger, part frustration, and part deep-seated alarming concern.

“It’s the Black Lion,” Allura says. “She’s talking to Shiro after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please feel free to drop me a comment! Cookies to every single one of you who guessed right ;) You're also free to come say hello on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com).....come yell :) Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone has answers for Shiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you all for all your comments and replies to the last chapter! I need you to know I was positively cackling with delight at each new revelation that arrived in my inbox. You all are fantastic and make writing this story so, so worth it. <3 couldn't do it without you.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my best friend [Andy](http://ashinan.tumblr.com) for her mad beta'ing skills and her suggestions on this chapter, as well. She is the bee's knees and put up with an awful lot from me this week. <3 Shoutout also to the rest of the thinktank - quite frankly, this week sucked and you guys were great at helping me through it. <3 I couldn't ask for better friends.
> 
> I've talked about this in another author's note on this site - but I'm having a moment, so here it is again. :) Sometimes as writers, there's a vivid image that pops into your head first thing, that really gets you started outlining or drafting. Sometimes it's a snippet of dialogue, that worms into your brain and demands you write an entire fic to satisfy it. Sometimes one of those Formative Scenes you scribble down in a mad haste at the very beginning of the process, not knowing if you'll get to it in a few days - weeks - or months, maybe. Sometimes it's a big turning point in the story; sometimes, maybe, it's just a good little scene and you're wildly, wildly excited to finally share it.
> 
> This chapter is one of those, for me.
> 
> Enjoy <3

“Shiro?”

Voices clamoring, voices calling. His name. He knows that. Shiro knows.

“Shiro!”

 

This is what Shiro remembers.

 

He doesn’t know much, maybe. There’s things that are elusive, things just out of reach. Things just past the fingertips of only one hand, when he should have two. That’s the balance, then: what’s real, and what should be. Shiro can’t make it make sense. Nothing makes sense.

_You used to be big._

Shiro doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t remember height able to open doors, able to reach countertops and drawers and knobs. He doesn’t remember the dexterity of ten fingers, not five. He doesn’t remember legs too long for a bed, the headrest of a chair actually pressing back behind his skull, the top half of windows instead of the bottom.

Things like that don’t seem possible. Things like that seem outside the realm of knowledge. Things like that don’t make sense.

Shiro only remembers things that _don’t make sense._ He remembers - things. Terrifying, horrifying things. The glimpses come so often. Rooms washed in violet light, straps tugging at wrists and ankles. Screaming voices, yelling, a sharp whir of blades like a medical office but worse, far worse. Frightening monsters who reach out for him, too fast to dodge, striking new scars, biting at his wrist until he can’t get away. Words he can’t understand. Faces that aren’t. Purple fur and white hair beneath hooded cowls.

A man on a table who isn’t a stranger, actually, not if -

_No._

And over all of it, every single time: a voice, deep, big, and comforting like the sun.

_Not this one._

Warmth sweeps the nightmares away. Reassuring darkness mutes the purple light. Something wraps around his tiny shaking form like a blanket, full of heat and grace and all-consuming love.

 _No,_ the voice murmurs, a silky soft purr like a sweater oversized and comfortable. _I have it. This is too big for you. I have it. I have you._

 _Too big?_ Shiro asks.

The words echo in this dark stillness, thoughts vanishing out of his head as soon as he thinks them. The frightening images are gone, leaving him standing alone and surrounded by massive, open sky. The sky is a mix of every shade of beautiful purple and blacks imaginable, mingled through with vast blue-violet clouds and bright, bright stars. It’s reflective. It’s endless. It’s not frightening at all.

 _What’s too big?_ Shiro repeats. _They said-_

 _They are right,_ the voice agrees, not in words but deep inside his mind. _I have it. I have you. You are safe and you are loved._

Shiro relaxes, minute inch by minute inch. It’s less lonely here, wherever _here_ is on this starry plain, with someone to talk to. Someone who understands. Someone who knows -

 _Is it true, then?_ he asks.

 _Yes_ , she tells him, gently. _Yes._

Images rise to the surface across his scattered and panicked mind. Odd clothing, exactly similar to those his new friends Hunk and Lance and Pidge wear, but dark-highlighted instead of bright. Battles, fierce, vicious. Teasing, training upon wide-open floors and decks. Dodging, but as a game and not as a battle. Green goo flying everywhere, landing in hair, on faces, laughing. Hunk, with a big yellow weapon underground, making decisions. Pidge, winning a game of chess. Lance, sitting up next to him impossibly awake, a cocky grin on his face, a smoking blue gun in his hands. Getting to his feet -

Keith. Red. Impossible and bold. _By myself?_

 _You’ll be fine,_ Shiro breathes.

Flight. An opening door, large and so much bigger than he can comprehend while he - a man - stands at the bottom of a flight of wide, wide stairs. Just feet - a glimpse of enormous metal -

Flight. Controls. Lighting panels. A darkened visor, racing towards the ground.

Flight.

Shiro gasps.

 _I have them,_ the voice says. All of this rushes in and out too fast for him to truly grasp. _Do not be afraid. I have them, until you can. Let them take care of you, little one. I will take care of you here._

It’s so much. It’s too much. Shiro grasps at the images as they disappear, slipping through fingers flesh and metal. _Is this - am I a Paladin?_

Fond amusement colors the voice. _You are Shiro._

Yes, he is: he is Shiro who doesn’t understand. He is Shiro who is young; he is Shiro who is - big? He is Shiro and he is utterly, utterly overwhelmed.

And, at the bottom of it all, fundamental to his core, Shiro does _not understand:_

_How can a person be a Paladin without a Lion?_

The voice purrs, distinctly enough that Shiro should remember - should be able to connect the pieces. But these pieces slip beneath curling and uncurling fingers, gone, evasive.

No. This doesn’t make sense. Of course he’s not a Paladin; of course. Shiro has no problem imagining any of his Paladin-friends rushing out to save the universe, one planet, one small lost lonely child at a time. He can’t be a Paladin, a Defender of the Universe. He’s too - he isn’t -

The word springs to mind, unbidden and sickening. It’s a phrase, drifting across the safety of this place in a vicious sneer.

_Do you really think a monster like you could be a Voltron Paladin?_

_Not that one,_ says the voice, the female voice. The words whisk away to safety. Their effect remains. Shiro trembles, shaken. He can’t get it out of his head; the voice lingers, cruel.

 _You’ve been broken,_ it hisses. Shiro recoils. _Do you really think -_

 ** _No,_** she insists, so loud and determined it rocks him to his core. The cruel voice vanishes, yanked away. Warmth wraps around him, pressing in.   _No. Do not believe this. Do not believe it even of yourself. It will be alright._

How can she be so sure? Who _is_ she?

Bright amusement colors her response, incredibly, ineffably fond. _Trust me, little cub. You are mine. Nothing is broken we cannot fix. It will be alright. I have you._

 _But who_ **_are_ ** _you?_ Shiro asks.

 _Trust them,_ she says, _trust me._

Warmth surrounds him, loving and full. The purr echoes through the dark space, gently lit with memories vanishing into the distance like stars. Departing, too.

 _Wait,_ Shiro cries, stretching out, flinging out his one hand. _Wait_. _You didn’t answer my question. Am I a Paladin?_

 _You are Shiro,_ the voice says, impossibly, beautifully fond.

That’s not an answer. Shiro can’t, he has to know. He has to, he asks, desperate: _Do I have a Lion, too?_

A press of deep, perfect love. Fond amusement. A purr, settled home in his bones and in his heart.

 _Sleep,_ she says, and Shiro wakes up.

 

Shiro shudders, sucks in air like a drowning man. The tension drains from his shoulders all at once; he sags, limp against the hands that are holding him. He’s exhausted. He’s awake. He’s -

“Shiro!”

Shiro opens his eyes.

The rest of the - no. His _friends_ cluster around him. Worry is evident in Allura’s eyes, in Keith’s gaze. Uncertainty lingers behind Pidge’s glasses, in Lance’s touch on Shiro’s neck. Hunk frets his hands, and all four of the mice look on from Coran’s shoulders.

Keith catches Shiro as he slumps over, gloved hands resting on Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro pulls his little self up and blinks at all of them.

“‘m okay,” Shiro manages. There’s flashes and bits that are settling away, images like stars winking out with the sunrise. Lance, and a crystal. Pidge, in a crooked hall of a downed ship. Someone just like Pidge but _not_ , staring up at him in fear -

_Not this one._

Warmth overtakes Shiro for just a second, the briefest smoothest touch _,_ and the image is whisked away in a whirl of dark and peaceful gold. The image of not-Pidge is snatched away from his fingers, gone. Memories vanish like sand swirling through a sieve. They’re gone, draining through five little fingertips that curl in as if he could catch them, could hold on. He’s only got one hand. Shiro remembers nothing more than he did this morning, nothing except a confusion now settled around _you used to be big_ and _how_ and, and -

All of it vanishes, except for one contented, perfect murmur.

 _I am with you,_ she says _,_ and then she is gone.

“Shiro?”

Shiro blinks. His - his friends are still watching him, concerned.

“‘m tired,” Shiro mumbles, and turns to hide his face in Keith’s shoulder.

Everyone babbles at once, talking over one another, a wave of senseless noise. Shiro lets it all wash over him. From here it’s safe. He doesn’t have to pretend to understand. He has one answer now; what’s left is to answer the rest.

If he _used_ to be big - why is he not, anymore?

If he _used_ to be big - was he a Paladin then, too?

And most importantly:

If he _used_ to be big - and he _used_ to be a Paladin - why does he not have a Lion?

 

The rest of the day passes in easy relaxation, naps and books and movies and macaroni-and-cheese.

In the dark of his room that night, with the nightlight steady on the table and the glow-in-the-dark stars Lance stuck up on the ceiling earlier, Shiro listens to the soft snoring of his four sleeping friends and thinks, hard.

Someone on this ship spoke to him.

Someone on this ship knows the answer to all the questions small, confused Shiro still has.

 _I’m going to find you,_ he vows, but he’s not entirely sure at who.

He falls asleep to an answering purr, so deep and warm it chases away his doubts, his nightmares, and dances with him in his dreams.

No. Shiro doesn’t remember anything beyond being small.

But he’s pretty sure there’s someone on this ship who _does_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this little interlude, please consider leaving me a comment! Comments entirely make my day and it's great fun to say hello <3 You can also follow me on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com); come yell :)
> 
> We might slow down the pace for a week or so; I got hit with some IRL stuff this week and have some catch-up to do in the background here. :) Excited for Mini-Arc 2 of our little smol!
> 
> ETA 1/2018: Yep, pace definitely slowed. Grad school is a bit busier than I thought. Updates coming as soon as possible - thanks for your patience and understanding! Your support means the world <3 Still excited!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pidge finishes her work, Coran continues his, and Shiro is a sneak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi <3
> 
> I'm not dead :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience during this last year. As some of you know, I started a new graduate program and it's completely eaten up all my time and energy the last several months. Regardless of the time that's passed, I've never forgotten about this fic. I never will. Summer has brought something of a breather, and so after way too long - here we are.
> 
> Thank you to the literal army of people who made this possible. If I were to list every person who encouraged me on the process of both this fic and the last year, it'd take more words than the fic currently has. If you were there on discord when I was panicking about this or school or anything over the last while: thank you. If you were there in person when I was shaking and needed a hug: thank you. If you were there on vidcall when I needed someone to just tell me I could do this and it would be okay: thank you. If you dropped me an encouraging comment, note, or hopeful word over the last thirteen months: thank you, thank you, thank you. You all have helped me so much more than I could ever say. 
> 
> The biggest thank you I owe is to [ashinan](http://ashinan.tumblr.com), my Andy, for still editing this for me and catching all my big mistakes and little mistakes. For still being there for me even though we're now 3000+ miles away. I love you so much. I wouldn't be here without you.
> 
> Since it's been a while: I started this fic after Season One, and that's still completely in place no matter how many more seasons we've had since then. This fic still remains firmly set within Season One. Nothing we've learned in any season since then has changed this, which means there's things we the viewers know that these characters don't. :) Hmmmm......
> 
> Since it's been a while: predicted chapter count remains a prediction. It used to be 18; then it was 20; now I'm fairly certain we'll be a tad longer, though I'll wait to change the number until I'm sure.
> 
> Since it's been a while: thank you, thank you, thank you. Please enjoy the next chapter of smol <3

What happens next is a noticeable, palpable shift in Shiro’s confidence.

He sleeps straight through the night, for one thing. Keith isn’t sure if that’s the relief of finally having some answers or the simple comfort of what is essentially a Paladin sleepover-slash-cuddle-pile two nights running. Either way, Keith isn’t complaining. Shiro’s the first one up the next morning, declaring his wakefulness by energetically belly-flopping straight onto Hunk. The resulting domino effect of flailed panic wakes everyone. Hunk windmills into Keith, who accidentally kicks Lance, who rolls over with a yelp and nearly squashes Pidge. It’s less than ideal, but it’s difficult to be angry when Shiro’s laughing so hard.

Shiro happily eats every bite of his breakfast too, especially when Lance cuts the toast into somewhat-animal-shaped pieces. Shiro eats them with his fingers, chattering the entire time. Keith’s more than content to let Hunk fabricate answers to Shiro’s new questions, spinning safe stories and adventures that Shiro listens to with wide-eyed, gleeful wonder.

Surprisingly, Shiro doesn’t ask a single question about the biggest secret left between his team and him.

Allura had spoken to the Black Lion yesterday after the revelations, but the details of the conversation she has not revealed. She’d pulled them aside one by one, but even after that Keith still doesn’t know more. Allura had only implored all of them to keep the Black Lion a secret for just a little longer.

Keith’s not going to press. It doesn’t seem to matter today. Shiro doesn’t ask anything about Lions; his eyes don’t glow at all the entire morning. He’s alert through every minute of breakfast, laughing at Lance’s strange faces, giggling at Pidge’s jokes, even eating a third piece of toast when Hunk slips it onto his plate. Whatever caused the Black Lion to intervene with Shiro in the first place, either Allura’s talk with her helped and the Lion is content to stay out of it, or - maybe - the problem’s solved for the moment. Either way, Keith’s relieved. Maybe they can get through this after all.

It’s a fun morning. Shiro’s nonverbal acceptance of _‘you used to be big’_ is so easy and so _right_ that Keith relaxes for the first time in five days. The only major downside is that Shiro’s amnesia doesn’t appear to have been altered in the slightest. Despite yesterday’s huge revelation, _‘you used to be big’_ resulted in absolutely no visible dramatic breakthrough of any kind: no spark of recognition, no sudden flood of wide-eyed awareness, nothing. As far as Keith can tell, Shiro’s memories remain completely locked away. Shiro is still a small, precious four-and-a-half-year old…but a much happier one than yesterday. He’s buoyed and running high on a good night’s sleep, a good breakfast, and good, true friends.

That, and Pidge’s successful completion of the Cool Mini Robot Arm.

 

“All set,” Pidge declares proudly, once the installation and final adjustments are done.

Hooking the arm up to Shiro’s port had been a surprisingly simple maneuver. Keith held Shiro’s other hand while the procedure was done; Shiro sat tense under Lance’s grip on his shoulder, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as Pidge and Hunk carefully maneuvered the prosthetic into place. He’d gasped a little when Pidge twisted the new arm into his port, but that’d been it. An easy, solid accomplishment.

“It’s not a weapon,” Pidge clarifies, setting down her screwdriver with a flourish. Shiro wiggles all five of his new fingers one by one, staring impossibly at their dexterity. “So if he gets into trouble he’s going to be defenseless.”

“He basically _is_ defenseless,” Keith points out, helping Shiro off Pidge’s worktable when Shiro gestures with _both arms_ to be picked up. Shiro grins at his own skill, understandably and inordinately pleased. “He’s five.”

“Four and a half,” Shiro corrects absent-mindedly, already distracted by the white plating of his new forearm.

“We’re not going to let that happen,” Hunk promises Keith over Shiro’s head. “…again. Happen _again.”_

“Does it at least do something cool?” Lance asks, chasing after Shiro as the little Paladin wanders away across the lab. Shiro wobbles once but corrects quickly, balance issues almost immediately fixed. A force to be reckoned with, for sure.

“Does it ever,” Pidge says, gleeful. “Shiro, get back here. I want to show you something.”

Shiro obliges, trekking happily right past Lance who’s already half-bent down to pick him up. Shiro holds out his new right arm proudly, beaming up at Pidge. “Look at my arm!”

“I see it,” Pidge confirms, just as excited. She squats down in front of Shiro, easily at his eye level. “Remember the surprise?”

“Yes,” Shiro gasps, bouncing up on his toes in excitement. “What is it? What’s the surprise?”

Pidge taps at a small, perfect circle set on the inside of the arm just above the metal elbow. It’s easily reachable with Shiro’s left hand. “See this little button here?”

Shiro pushes it immediately. His arm lights up in bright, gentle aqua, exactly identical to the color of the lights lining the castle halls and the little nightlight that keeps falling off his bedside stand. “Woah!”

“Pidge, that’s awesome!” Lance crows.

“That’s so _neat,”_ Hunk agrees, crouching to get a better look. Shiro lets him, staring in pure wonder at his glowing blue arm. “You got the wiring to work!”

“I did,” Pidge says, with cat-hooked smirk. The open glow wrench sits harmlessly on her worktable, its casing still partially dismantled. “Here, Shiro, press it again.”

Shiro does eagerly. His hand shifts from an aqua to a perfect, shining bold red. His shriek of delight warms all their hearts. _“Cool!”_

“Your favorite color,” Hunk coos.

Shiro holds his arm up, shining bright crimson in the low lights of Pidge’s lab. “Keith, look!”

“I see it,” Keith says, smiling. “What a great color, Shiro.”

“I liked the blue better.” Lance pouts, but he can’t hide his grin. “Turn it back, Shiro, c’mon!”

“You like it, Shiro?” Hunk prompts, as Shiro twists free of Lance’s ‘helpful’ reach.

“I love it,” Shiro says, happily.  The crimson glow of his little hand illuminates his face and the pure delight in his eyes. “It’s really mine?”

“It’s yours,” Pidge confirms. “Push it one more time.”

Shiro does. The glow of his arm fades from charming red into a rosy pink, which shifts after a few seconds to a cheerful yellow and then to a bright emerald green. His gleeful gasp rings through the entire lab.

“That is _so_ cool,” Lance whistles. Shiro stares at his arm as the colors continue to change, his arm fading back to the bright blue and then to the red as the cycle begins all over again.

“I know,” Pidge says, adjusting her glasses smugly. “It’s on a timer, so the colors will set back to that blue after a couple dobashes. Shiro, here, if you press the button one more time it’ll turn off. Let me show you.”

“No,” Shiro says stubbornly, and keeps his arm out of everyone’s reach for hours.

 

Small Shiro with one hand was morose, quiet, and subdued, a shadow of his former self in more ways than one.

Small Shiro with two hands is a magnificent, stubborn, brilliant tornado of chaos.

“I can do it myself,” Shiro says, when Lance leans in to help him with lunch. He pushes Lance’s face out of the way with the new right hand. Shiro devours his macaroni-and-cheese with all the blessed power of a dominant set of fingers, managing his spork with newfound ease.

“I can do it myself,” Shiro insists confidently, sliding off his booster seat at the end of the meal. He uses both hands to brace himself at the bottom of the booster before letting his little feet drop lightly and securely to the ground.

“I can do it myself,” Shiro says, politely but clearly quite proud. He scoops his empty bowl off the table before Hunk can and carries it all the way to the kitchen.

“Well done, bud,” Hunk praises him. Shiro stands up on his tiptoes to slide the bowl onto the counter by the sink. Hunk pats his head affectionately; Shiro beams a gap-toothed smile. “Alright, then. Keith’s off for the afternoon, what do you say we do some baking, huh?”

“Can I taste?” Shiro asks hopefully as Hunk begins gathering measuring utensils and bowls from a lower drawer. Shiro peeks into the drawer before Hunk closes it, curious. Chulatt skitters along the countertops, chirping excitedly at Platt who waddles on behind. Chuchule and Plachu follow more sedately at Shiro’s ankles.

“Of course you can taste,” Lance says, returning from the space-refrigerator with a container that he peels open, revealing six reddish orbs. Shiro ekes up on his tiptoes again, bracing himself with two sets of little fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter. Lance accepts a bowl from Hunk, selects a russet-red globe from its nestled home, and cracks the shell open. The liquid innards slip neatly into the bowl, green yolk and all. “What’s on the menu today, Hunk? Think Keith will like them?”

“He should,” Hunk says, absently pulling out several sealed containers of varying sizes from another drawer: two larger, a bunch of medium ones, and several small bottles. Shiro’s head whips away from Lance’s preparations and up towards Hunk instead. “Keith’s not a picky eater, he’ll probably eat it even if he doesn’t like it.”

Both of them miss the devious gleam of hope that lights up Shiro’s eyes.

“We should ask him,” Shiro declares, loudly enough that Lance mis-cracks an egg, sending yolk down the outside of the bowl instead. “Where is he?”

“Not sure,” Hunk answers, opening the largest container and measuring out several scoops of thick blue powder into his own bowl. His hands are steady and sure. “But everyone likes cookies and Keith liked these last time so it’s probably fine. I was going to do things a little differently, though. The red-things are supposed to taste something like chocolate chips, or at least I think so. Coran wasn’t super clear on what a chocolate chip was.”

“Poor guy,” Lance says, sympathetically. “Red things?”

“In the jar,” Hunk says, pointing with his chin. Among his gathered ingredients sits a little glass jar full of tiny red leaves.

“We should still ask,” Shiro repeats, undeterred. Lance blinks down at him, pausing in whisking the space-eggs; Shiro stares back determinedly, lower lip set firm. “What if Keith doesn’t like chocolate chips?”

“Keith likes chocolate chips,” Lance says, flatly. “Have you met him?”

Shiro frowns, but presses on bravely. “What if Keith doesn’t like cookies?”

“Keith likes cookies,” both Lance and Hunk chorus.

“Keith likes everything I make,” Hunk says, proudly opening a second container and tilting it to pour the powder - a fine sugar-like consistency the color of a pale sky - into his measuring bowl.

“Except that baked fish-mash thing,” Lance says, returning to his stirring.

Hunk’s jaw drops open in shock. The space-sugar heaps up on top of his measuring device. Chuchule tugs hastily on Hunk’s sleeve until Hunk sets the container down, hard enough that Chuchule jumps back with a squeak. “He - he ate that! He asked for seconds!”

“Because no else would, big guy,” Lance says, patiently whisking.

“So we should check on this, too,” Shiro decides, nodding wisely. Almost too wisely. The mice eep in alarm as Shiro turns directly for the door, determined. “I’ll go find him!”

“Hang on there, _chico.”_ Lance drops his spork into the bowl of eggs just in time, hooking his hand into the back of Shiro’s sweater-collar and catching him as the kiddo attempts to scoot by. Plachu sighs in relief, paw pressed to his heart. “If you leave, who’s going to help me stir?”

“Hunk will,” Shiro offers, trying to squirm past Lance for the door.

“Hunk needs as many hands as he can get,” Hunk says, brushing the spilled space-sugar off the counter into his palm. Both Chuchule and Platt offer him their willing paws. “Lance, you ready yet?”

“Almost,” Lance says. He scoops Shiro up under the armpits and sets the boy down on the counter. Shiro giggles with glee, all ten of his little fingers clinging to Lance’s jacket as he’s set down. Chulatt scampers around Hunk’s bowl to join him, clambering up onto Shiro’s knee. “Here, Shiro, help a guy out. Can you stir while I add in the rest of this stuff?”

“Okay,” Shiro says, contentedly distracted. Lance hands him the big whisking spork. Shiro sticks it directly into the bowl of green eggs and happily, if messily, swirls the utensil around the contents while Lance measures out a dollop of thick aqua liquid, pouring it directly into the bowl. The aqua blends brightly with the green of the space-eggs, deepening the color to a royal teal. Shiro’s little tongue sticks out between his teeth as he concentrates, stirring the spork deliberately with both hands.

 _Do we have to make him bigger?_ Lance signs to Hunk via a raised eyebrow, double nostril-flare, and semi-dramatic rolling of both eyes.

 _He is pretty cute,_ Hunk agrees, with two tugs of his earlobe and four eye-blinks. Lance snorts.

“Is this good?” Shiro asks, interrupting. His young gaze is fixed on both of them, keen eyes narrowed, but his face splits into a hopeful grin as they turn back. “Have I stirred enough?”

“Almost,” Hunk answers, smiling too. It’s impossible not to be touched by Shiro’s enthusiasm.

If Hunk’s being honest, too, there’s also something really nice about moments like these. Something simple and undisturbed, just the three of them working side-by-side in a way that isn’t fraught with stress, death, or destruction. Hunk’s always enjoyed the soothing familiarity of the kitchen. Sure, it took a little experimenting to figure out the knobs and the measurements in space, but there’s a casual rhythm to this that’s undeniable, alien kitchen or no.

Even size doesn’t matter here. Hopefully Coran will finish his research soon and get Shiro back to full capacity; Hunk will be just as glad as everyone else when that happens. Right now, though, it really doesn’t matter. In this kitchen, they’re just three friends working towards the same end. A mix of sugar, flour, eggs and almost-milk will make something delicious - at least if Hunk has anything to say about it. It’s about food here, yes, but it’s also about the making and the sharing of the food. It’s about the three of them working together, creating something that nourishes, feeds, and helps. It’s about the end product, sure, but it’s the process that Hunk lives for.

“Can I taste?” Shiro asks, reaching his hand towards the bowl.

Lance nudges his hand out of the way before Hunk can. “The space-eggs’ll make you sick, _chico._ Wait until Hunk mixes in the blue stuff.”

“And how did you find that out?” Hunk asks, with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Lance moans.

Shiro kicks his little heels against the counter as he stirs steadily, if sloppily, with his right hand. “But it does taste good, right? We should really take some to Keith just in case.”

“Nope.” Lance leans around Shiro and pours in the final wet ingredient; Shiro attacks the stirring with a vengeance, working to his heart’s content. “We don’t know where Keith is and I’m not running around the Castle in search of anybody today. He can have some when they’re baked.”

Shiro frowns. Some of the batter’s left the bowl and stuck on his cheek. “But we could use the cameras to find him - ”

“We are not spying on Keith via the cameras,” Lance interrupts, wiping off Shiro’s cheek with his thumb. Shiro scrunches up his face and relinquishes the spork when Lance holds his hand out for it too. “Keith’s on his own and we’re not bothering him. We can check on him after nap.”

That does the trick. Shiro’s frown deepens immediately, alarmed. “We napped yesterday.”

“And you did a very good job,” Hunk says amicably.

“Not up for discussion, little guy,” Lance says, when Shiro opens his mouth to protest. “That new arm of yours is cool and all, but Pidge said it’s definitely going to take some getting used to. We’re totally napping later.”

Shiro closes his mouth, clearly thinking hard. A thoughtful light springs into his eyes. “Does _Pidge_ like dessert?”

“Oh my god,” Lance groans.

“Shiro, slide that over here,” Hunk says, patiently. “Want to pour it in for me? In just a second you can taste it.”

The distraction works again. Shiro relinquishes the bowl gladly, pushing it carefully across the counter. Chulatt, Plachu, and Chuchule leap to help, guiding the heavy bowl safely to Hunk’s waiting hands.

“Thank you,” Hunk cheers, as the bowl arrives. The mice scamper out of the way so Shiro can scoot closer along the counter, getting space-flour all over his pants and hands in the process. Chuchule scampers too far and bumps into Plachu; caught off guard, Plachu topples right back into Chulatt, who squeaks in alarm and dodges out of the way -

\- right into Platt, who’s contentedly too large to be bowled over. Chulatt bounces right off Platt’s stomach and straight into the corked jar of red leaves, tipping both him and the jar over the edge of the counter.

“No!” Shiro cries. Lance lunges but he’s too far. Hunk drops the bowl back onto the counter and scoops Chulatt up mid-fall, catching the flailing little mouse halfway to the floor. The bottle isn’t so lucky. The glass vessel slips right past Hunk’s fingers and crashes to the floor where it shatters completely, tiny red leaves spilling out among fragmented glass.

“Hunk!” Lance yelps, “You okay?!”

“I’m fine, we’re alright!” Hunk cups Chulatt carefully in his hands, raising him up to eye level. “You okay there, little guy?” Chulatt squeaks out a tremulous peep, shaking where he’s pressed up against Hunk’s thumb. “Geez, that must’ve been scary. Here, let’s put you down with Shiro. Shiro, can you hold out your hands?”

Shiro doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s staring at the broken shards of glass on the floor, mouth turned down at the corners in horrified dismay.

“It’s broken,” Shiro whispers.

“It’s alright, nobody’s hurt,” Lance says. He nudges Shiro ever-so-slightly with his shoulder. Shiro blinks, a slow drag of long eyelashes over wide eyes, but doesn’t look away from the mess on the floor. Hunk sets Chulatt down on the counter instead, where the other mice immediately crowd around him. “Hey. Everyone’s fine. Hunk?”

“Yeah, no, this is toast,” Hunk says apologetically, bending to investigate. The bright little leaves are so interspersed with the shattered glass that there’s no way to pick them out safely. “I’ll grab the vacuum, you stay put.”

“Could - could Pidge fix it?” Shiro whispers. The mice drag Chulatt away from the edge of the counter, chittering. Lance sets his hands on Shiro’s shoulders, keeping him seated and still. Hunk grabs the space-vacuum from its holder on the wall.

“Don’t think we can save it, bud,” Lance says, not unkindly. Shiro flinches as Hunk turns the vacuum on; Lance tightens his grip on Shiro’s shoulders, pulling Shiro into a hug as Hunk vacuums up the remnants of the accident. “We’re just going to throw it away.”

Shiro buries his face in Lance’s shirt.

“All done,” Hunk announces, as the last piece of glass disappears into the vacuum. He sets the vacuum back in its place and joins his friends at the counter, frowning lightly. “Shiro, what’s wrong?”

A deliberate squeak from the counter catches their attention. Chulatt peels away from his protective group of mice and climbs right up onto Shiro’s knee. Surprised, Shiro startles away from Lance with a tiny gasp. Encouraged, Chulatt clambers up Shiro’s leg, hops onto his new arm, and climbs all the way up to Shiro’s shoulder, where he nuzzles his little head right into Shiro’s cheek.

“See, Chulatt’s okay,” Lance says. Shiro lets go of Lance’s shirt cautiously, raising his fingers to carefully pet Chulatt’s little head. The mouse chirps at him, a croon. “It was just an accident, Shiro. Everyone’s fine.”

Shiro draws in a shaky breath. Chulatt squeaks encouragingly. Shiro offers a shaky, hesitant smile.

“If - if we change the flavor,” he starts. Both Hunk and Lance lean in. Shiro looks up at them, and though his gaze is no longer fraught with misery, the worry in his eyes is clear. “Will Keith still like them?”

Lance chokes on his guffaw.

“Keith likes all my cooking,” Hunk promises, fondly ruffling Shiro’s hair. Shiro ducks his head but he’s smiling; Hunk grins too and straightens up, pushing the two bowls of ingredients along the counter. “We’ll figure it out. Still want to help pour the ingredients together? This part’s pretty cool.”

Shiro nods, careful not to disturb Chulatt, but the worry on his face doesn’t fade. His lower lip wobbles.

“What if I drop it, too?” Shiro whispers.

All three of the mice still on the counter immediately leap into action, offering their open and able paws.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Lance says, smiling. He places his hands over Shiro’s on the sides of the closest bowl. The mice mimic him, placing their paws on the bowl too and raising their voices in cheeping support. “On three. We’ll all help you.”

 

“Oh,” Allura croons, when Shiro, Hunk, and Lance finally step onto the bridge a varga or so later. Shiro leads the way, proudly carrying a metal tin full of cookies in his two little hands. “Well look at you, little Paladin! What do you have there?”

“We made these,” Shiro declares, thrilled. He bounces right up onto the dais where Allura’s station is with no hesitation. His earlier reservations have vanished with the pointed application of several jokes, a bit of mice-juggling, three warm cookies fresh from the oven and Lance’s cancellation of the Dreaded Nap. “They’re still warm and they’re for you!”

“Thank you, young Paladin,” Allura coos, entirely delighted. Shiro offers her the tin; she curtseys in appreciation and chooses a cookie with as much circumstance and ceremony as if she were selecting a fine jewel. Shiro giggles, beaming with glee. “You have been busy!”

“We sure have,” Lance agrees, as he and Hunk join Shiro and Allura up by her control station. “The cookies turned out pretty good. Shiro’s a natural.”

“Hunk let me stir,” Shiro brags, “And we poured the ingredients together and they went _poof!”_

“That would be the good ol’ Rezienbolo Reaction,” Coran says sagely, turning from his workstation. The screens are active above his console, each of the six panels displaying a wealth of diverse information: two of steadily scrolling text, one stationary image that Hunk can’t make out, and three flat maps highlighted in different colors. Coran’s fingers tap out a new sequence even as he calls over his shoulder. “When you add schnerzal powder to the jaggelog eggs -”

“It’s magic!” Shiro crows. “The powder-stuff went everywhere and it all turned green!”

“The evaporation takes care of the dangerous bacteria lingering in the jaggelogs,” Hunk says, ruffling Shiro’s hair floof fondly. Shiro beams up at him too. “Dangerous to humans, anyway. We know. Shiro did great.”

“Everyone helped,” Shiro corrects. “We worked as a team!”

“And you did an excellent job,” Allura praises him, taking a second and then a third bite of her cookie. “Mm. Coran, you must taste these. A bit unusual, but delicious. May I have another?”

Shiro offers her the tin immediately. Coran taps a sequence into his console; the panels flash once and then minimize out of sight, vanishing in thin air as he saves his work and hops up on the platform. Shiro proudly swings the cookie tin over to him and Coran bows, taking the cookie on top. Shiro laughs, pleased. “Thank you, young chef! To what do we owe this generous honor?”

“We’re making the rounds,” Lance explains. Coran makes a big show of eating his cookie, sniffing the baked good with gusto. His mustache wiggles with the effort; Shiro watches with delight as Coran takes a tiny bite, and then devours the entire delicacy in one huge gulp. Shiro belly-laughs, the sound pure and free. Hunk can’t hide his grin, either. “We were going to save these for dessert, but Shiro decided it was afternoon snack instead and so we had to share with everybody.”

“We came to you guys first before we go hunt down Keith,” Hunk explains. Lance groans. Hunk smirks, shrugging. “Or Pidge, haven’t decided yet.”

Shiro’s head whips around. “Keith!”

“Yep, definitely Keith,” Lance reassures him. “Hunk’s teasing you. Everything going okay up here?”

“Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Allura says, gracefully dusting her hands of crumbs. Shiro offers her the cookie tin again; Allura smiles down at him, shaking her head. “Oh no, little Paladin, but thank you so much. Would you give us a moment, please? I need to speak with Hunk and Lance for just a tick.”

“Can you go play with the mice for a sec, _chico?_ ” Lance asks. Chulatt squeaks from his perch still on Shiro’s shoulder; Chuchule pokes his head out from Shiro’s pocket, curious. Platt scampers down from where he’d hitched a ride in Lance’s sleeve, with Platt following from his similar riding-place in one of Hunk’s belt pouches. “Stay where we can see you.”

“Okay,” Shiro says. His eyes dart around the bridge for a moment, settling on Coran. “Is Mister Coran coming too?”

“Uncle Coran’s going to stay with this conversation for a tick, Number Six,” Coran says, “Would you like me to hang on to those cookies for you? In the wrong hands they could be quite dangerous.”

He waggles his eyebrows. Shiro giggles, turning away and clutching the entire tin of cookies to his body. “I can protect them!”

“Save some for Keith,” Hunk warns. Shiro hops off the platform, cookie tin still held possessively to his chest. The mice leap after him, a synchronized effort of four diving mouse bodies as they tuck and roll out of sight.

“What’s up?” Lance asks, as soon as they’re clear. The dais is so tall that only the very top of Shiro’s little hair floof can be seen. The tuft of floof moves as Shiro scampers off along the edge of the platform: off on adventure, no doubt. Hunk grins at the bobbing tuft of hair and turns his attention back to the conversation. “You two look like you’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been assisting Coran with his research,” Allura explains. “It’s quite complicated, I’m afraid. I rather wish the four of you were fluent in Altean. It’d go a lot faster if we had more help.”

“We’re almost there, princess,” Coran reassures her. His eyes are patient and weary.

“Keith said you hit on something yesterday,” Lance says. Coran pulls up the charts in midair, spreading them out before their little group. A solid block of text appears along the right side, a handful of star charts and constellations mapped along the left. It’s no more legible for the proximity. “Some kind of pattern?”

“A pattern summarizes it, yes.” Coran fiddles with the data on the left, scrolling through with one gloved hand. Lines of text zoom past, blue highlighted with bold green. “The translation’s done enough that the computer was able to begin its cross-referencing sequence, which is something of a relief. We’d hit a sort of snafu that I was a tiny bit concerned about - ”

“A snafu?” Lance repeats, alarmed. “What kind of a snafu?”

“Shh,” Hunk hisses. One of the mice squeaks from the floor; Shiro’s giggle drifts up to them a moment later, content.

Coran holds up his hand, waving off Hunk’s concern. “Nothing to be terribly worried about yet. Suffice to say, the cross-referencing is a relief because it’s highlighted a few patterns that bridge something of an alarming gap.”

“Okay, no, you can’t just say that and not explain,” Lance protests. He’s careful to keep his voice down. “What kind of a gap?”

Coran sighs, the edges of his mustache fluttering with the exhale. “A frustrating one.”

“The Nafralians have a great deal of information in their research regarding the - experiment,” Allura says, with a careful glance towards the edge of the platform. Shiro’s little hair floof is just visible beyond the dais, the sound of his laughter mingling happily with the squeaks and peeps of the mice. “If I’m understanding Coran’s work correctly, however - they have less information about how to reverse it.”

Wait -

“Less?” Lance asks, right as Hunk asks over top: “How much is ‘less’?”

Allura hesitates.

Hunk’s stomach plummets. Next to him Lance looks like he’s been punched in the gut.

“No, no, don’t look like that!” Coran hastens to reassure them. “We still have to go through the footnotes. But Allura’s right: the Nafralian research we have is focused more heavily on the success of their procedures and clinical trials than anything else. However!” He holds his index finger up, sharp as a whip. “The pattern the computer found yesterday has one possible implication: we might not have all of it.”

“But we _got_ all of it,” Hunk blurts. “Pidge uploaded all the files, there wasn’t anything left.”

“And Hunk grabbed a bunch of the equipment,” Lance recalls, snapping his fingers. In front of the dais Shiro’s head pops up, glancing briefly over at them before he ducks down to whisper to the mice. “We have the parts of the machine that did this in the first place. If we can just hook them - back up to something -”

“To what?” Allura asks. “There’s no schematic. Pidge already asked.”

“Pidge already asked?” Hunk repeats, startled. “When?”

“A few vargas ago,” Allura explains. “I haven’t seen her since. Furthermore, we all saw the energy beam that did this to - that caused this _experiment_ in the first place. Even if you and Pidge could reverse engineer this machine based entirely off of physical memory, we have no way to power it or ensure it’s even built right. And that’s not a test we’re running anyone through.”

“We’re not telling Keith about this, right?” Hunk asks, weakly.

“We’ll have to.” Allura sighs, her lips momentarily pressed thin. “Keeping secrets has done us no favors. If we cannot build this reversal-machine ourselves, nor power it, then there’s only one solution. We need to find someone who already has.”

Lance frowns. “Is that - possible? I thought this was ‘exclusive technology.’”

“So did I,” Allura admits. “Coran? It’s your news.”

“It’s not news yet,” Coran corrects her with a sigh. “But it is a clue.”

He taps a few commands into the corner of his screen, pinching and dragging. Several of the planets on the star map light up, highlighted in various shades of green, blue, and an overwhelming amount of red.

“These,” Coran explains, with weary pride hanging from every word. Hunk and Lance lean in, awed, “are all the other planets mentioned in the Nafralian research. They’re a bit scattered, but the ol’ computer pinged up on the frequency of several of these names yesterday when Keith visited me. Allura’s helping me sort through which planets have been mentioned the most frequently, either as allies, co-researchers, or who knows what else. If the Nafralian research doesn’t have the answer we need, it’s possible one of these planets might.”

“Wow, Coran,” Hunk breathes. There’s a little metallic clunk from the front of the platform, accompanied by a flurry of mousey squeaks. Neither Hunk nor Lance can look away from from the map. Several dozen planets rotate lazily on screen, a scattering of ocean colors mixed amongst a sea of red. “There’s so many.”

Lance squints at the map, counting. “Why are there so many red ones?”

Allura’s face turns grim. “Those indicate planets currently occupied by the Galra.”

Lance reels, alarmed. Hunk glances immediately over towards Shiro. Shiro doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s still whispering to the mice, at least one of whom peeps back at him in urgent squeaks. “Allura!”

“I didn’t say we’re _taking_ him there!” Allura protests, waving her hands frantically. “Of course not! Those are the planets we’re staying far away from at all costs, no matter what else turns up in Coran’s research.”

Hunk swallows, nervous. The number of crimson planets on the map is chilling. “But if - once you’ve ruled the others out, if those are the only ones left - ”

“We are not taking Shiro anywhere near them,” Allura says, her voice like ice. The squeaking of the mice grows louder. “He stays on this ship where he is safe.”

“We’ve got a bit of a ways to go before we park at that intergalactic hub, anyway,” Coran says. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t you worry your little heads. If there’s something left to be found, I’ll find it.”

 _“We’ll_ find it,” Allura corrects him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. The mice squeaks reach a peeping crescendo. “You’ve already worked so hard on this, Coran. No one could have asked for more.”

A fond sincerity flickers in Coran’s gaze. “It’s no trouble, Princess. Any of us would’ve done the same, especially for our Shiro.”

The squeaking alarm of the mice finally registers. As one, the group turns to look.

Shiro’s standing up on tiptoe on top of the sturdy cookie tin. With both hands he’s just tall enough to reach Coran’s console. Somehow either he, or a helpful mouse, has managed to activate the computer. The screens are clearly lit up and extended, proudly and accurately displaying a range of sixteen different views. The camera panels shine brightly in midair, Shiro’s little face eagerly tilted up towards them -

_“Shiro!”_

Shiro eeps and windmills dangerously, overbalancing directly off the box. Chulatt panics and yelps, leaping clear; Lance lurches forward but he and Hunk are too far. Allura’s faster, bounding across the platform in two fell swoops. She bends her knees and her graceful hands catch Shiro under the armpits just inches before his little head can slam into the floor.

“Shiro!”

Shiro tips his head back up at Allura, grinning with sheepish relief. The mice skitter by his ankles, the source of all the outraged peeping. “You caught me!”

“I did,” Allura says, setting Shiro right on his feet. She tweaks at the folds of his sweater, brushing him off until the fabric lies flat. “And you’re lucky I was close enough. What were you thinking?”

“What were you _doing_ , more like?” Hunk gawks. Coran steps around all of them, neatly minimizing the open panels with the quickest flick of his fingers - though he does pause, frowning at one of the panels before discarding it. He turns around as Lance hops off the platform to join the group, Hunk following suit until they’re all down on the same ground.

Shiro’s eyes shift from Allura to Hunk to Lance and over to Coran, now standing guard by the console. He plasters on a winning, innocent, sheepish smile that in other circumstances might have been charming. “I was - looking for Keith?”

“Were you now,” Allura asks, flatly.

“He’s probably on the training deck like always,” Lance groans. Allura picks Shiro up and deposits him on top of the platform behind them, a full step away from the cameras and the console. “When I told you to stay busy this isn’t what I meant. What have we told you about touching things that aren’t yours?”

“Ask first,” Shiro replies woefully, tracing circles into the floor with his toe.

“And did you ask Mister Coran if you could use his cameras?” Lance continues.

Shiro’s face settles into a hopeful, stubborn pout. “I asked you earlier.”

This time Lance doesn’t fall for it. “And what did I say?”

Shiro’s shoulders slump, a dejected surrender. He lets out a heavy sigh and recites dutifully: “That we can find Keith without the cameras. But I wanted - ”

Plachu squeaks something from the floor, an outraged litany. Allura’s ears twitch. She glances sharply at Coran, who gives a minuscule shake of his head. Hunk, catching the exchange, frowns.

“And did you find Keith?” Lance asks, of Shiro.

“No,” Shiro starts, slowly. He casts a hesitant and guilty glance over towards Coran.

“That’s alright, if he’s on the training deck we know how to get there,” Lance says, rising too. He picks up the tin of cookies; Shiro holds his hands right out for it. “C’mon. If you didn’t squish the cookies, we can take some to him.”

Shiro gasps, offended. “I didn’t _squish_ them!”

“Maybe we’d better check one just to be sure,” Lance teases, holding the cookies just close enough -

“No, I’m _guarding_ them,” Shiro insists, and tugs them away from Lance’s grip to hold close to his chest. “Keith taught me how to guard, I’m guarding!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” Shiro crows and takes off across the bridge at a run. Lance leaps after him with a ferocious roar. Shiro’s yelp of laughter fills the bridge as Lance gives chase, deliberately a few steps slower, making animal noises vaguely like a cross between a bellowing cow and a lumbering bear.

“We can continue this later, right?” Hunk asks Coran and Allura. Lance finally catches a laughing Shiro up in a big bear hug, tickling him mercilessly. “Unless we can do anything to help?”

“Not unless you wanted to talk to Keith,” Allura suggests wearily. “No, rather, you could ask him if he’d come speak to me. I don’t mind.”

“I’ll find a way to tell him,” Hunk offers. Across the bridge Shiro shrieks with laughter as Lance dangles him upside-down, hanging onto the tin of cookies for dear life. “You have enough on your plate.”

“Thank you,” Allura says, earnestly. “Coran, what’s wrong?”

Coran’s turned back to his console the moment Shiro was distracted, re-opening the screens and frowning at their contents. He’s frowning. Hunk scoots forward for a better view.

“These are the images Shiro somehow managed to pull up,” Coran explains. Instead of sixteen panels he’s opened them one by one, flipping from image to image with a steady hand.

“What was he looking at?” Hunk asks, squinting at the screens. The dining hall is one of the images Coran flips through; so is the hallway outside of it. There’s an abandoned staircase - an empty room - “Did he see anything he shouldn’t?”

Plachu huffs by Allura’s feet.

“Depends on your definition of ‘shouldn’t’,” Coran sighs. He gestures towards the final image. Allura gasps, her hand flying to her throat. Hunk doesn’t have to move any closer. The image is unmistakable.

On the screen of Coran’s console is the distinct silhouette of a Lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked what you read, or simply feel like dropping an encouraging word into the void of my inbox, please consider leaving me a comment! I've read and reread every comment I've received over the past few months. They've really, absolutely helped. <3
> 
> I've also been so fortunate since the last chapter to receive some fANTASTIC ART for this fic. Thank you all SO MUCH. I look back at these and literally don't have words. If I have missed your art in the last year, please let me know - it's been a hot minute or three :) Please check out these artists and give them some love! Links below!
> 
> [smol!Shiro and Shiro](https://averylazydragon.tumblr.com/post/162485013615/two-large-tears-slip-down-his-cheeks-you-all), by the fantastic [averylazydragon](http://averylazydragon.tumblr.com). I so so love the juxtaposition here!!  
> [Some sad!smol!Shiros](https://janestrider.tumblr.com/post/165270840517/some-sad-smol-shiros-from-butteredonions-s-the) by the wonderful [janestrider](http://janestrider.tumblr.com), specifically from chapters 3 and 11. I lOVE how you've drawn him and those big, studio-ghibli tears! ;A;  
> [smol!Shiro meeting a smol!Ulaz](https://gitwrecked.tumblr.com/post/165782564530/first-meeting-1-this-is-100-butteredonions-s), by the incomparable [gitwrecked](http://gitwrecked.tumblr.com). This isn't directly from this fic, but this smol is so cUTE I cannot resist. ~~Ulaz is also always a favorite.~~ Thank you for every smol and every hand-holding and everything that you've done for me.  <3  
> [A plethora of adorable smols](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com/post/173239292147/ive-been-wanting-to-do-some-fan-art-to-appreciate), by the fantastic [littlewhitetie](http://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com). I'm speechless.  
> The [Keith and smol Shiro](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com/post/173708747088/a-smol-gift-for-one-of-the-best-fic-writers-out) now linked in [Chapter Seven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900642/chapters/22327778) is from the amazing [littlewhitetie](http://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com). I still cannot stop staring at this. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you all so much.
> 
> I drafted the rest of this fic before I started my new school program, and I'm working hard to edit all these pieces before the school year starts again in a few weeks. There's at least a few more chapters waiting in the wings that I hope to post throughout the fall semester. Next one won't be out for at least a few weeks, so if you've been waiting to reread this 70k monster - this might be a great time :)
> 
> More smol soon, fingers crossed. We're coming up on my absolute favorites in two, three chapters. I've been sitting on them for too long and I can't wait to share :) You're always welcome to follow me on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com) for faster updates-about-the-updates. Come say hi!


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